Things Turn Messy
by Elf Eye
Summary: Another in "The Nameless One" series. Set after "Dol Guldur."
1. A Sticky Mess

_MoroTheWolfGod__: Oh, very well!  Here's another one.  Your appetite is insatiable!_

_Farflung__: I can imagine writing a story from Thranduil's point of view, but I think it may be a while before I get to it.  It will definitely be on my 'to do' list._

_Kawaii__ ningen kitsune: _As promised, one (actually two) slimy, sticky messes coming up.

_Gwil__: _Hope things improve.  In the meantime, here is another installment for your amusement.

_Jebb__: I can take a hint!_

_Lembas7: _It wasn't the end of the story, which now continues with the arrival of Estel in Rivendell.  'Redivivus' means 'to live again' or 'to be reborn'.  It's a fancy way of saying, 'He's baaaa-aack'.  I actually have started sketching out one post-ROTK tale that includes, among other characters, Legolas (under his real name!), Gimli, and Aragorn.  It is not anywhere near completion, however, and "The Nameless One" series keeps sidetracking me.  By the way, a special 'thank you' for your response to "Fellowship of the Philologists."  I had hoped to make it a series that would lightheartedly identify some of the more common writing mistakes, but there doesn't seem to be an audience for it.  Oh, well.  Timewise, "Fellowship of the Philologists" is completely AU, and it is not part of "The Nameless One" series.  

_Dragonfly: _Estel is now officially in the mix.

**Note on Estel's age.  In the Appendix to ROTK, Aragorn is described as having been two when his father was slain.  Of course, a two-year-older can be as old as two years, eleven months, and thirty days, so I take the liberty of imagining that he was nearly three at the time of his father's death, and I also add in some time for the journey that he and his mother would have made in order to reach Rivendell.  Soooo, in my story, I've made him roughly four.  That way he would have developed enough speech and behavior so that he could interact in interesting ways with the other characters.   I hope I haven't done extreme violence to the chronology in doing so. **

            Several months after the Elves had returned to Dol Guldur, Erestor went to Elrond and recommended that certain changes be made in Elrohir, Elladan, and Anomen's living arrangements and daily routine.  He opined that it was time that each young Elf be given a separate bedroom.

            "Elrond, they are reaching the age when they are going to desire more privacy.  And, I might add—"  Erestor paused.  How to say this?

            "I might add that in these last few months it has become apparent that they are getting too old for their lessons in the library.  I think they must be set at liberty to pursue more, more—hands-on instruction."

            "But, Erestor," Elrond protested, "they will simply waste their time if they have no lessons.  It seems that lately, whenever they have a free minute, they spend it loitering about with the Elf-maidens!"

            Erestor sighed.  How could such a wise lord be so obtuse when it came to certain matters?

            "Elrond, I know it has been many ages—three, to be exact—since you were a young Elf, but surely you can remember that at a certain point you began to develop interests that involved, ah, a weapon other than the sword or the bow!"

            Elrond stared at him for a moment.  Suddenly he grasped what his friend was driving at.

            "Oh," he said sheepishly.  "Um, well, you have been their tutor; if you think they would benefit from spending their time on, ah, other pursuits, I will not gainsay you."

            "Good," exhaled Erestor, much relieved.  The last few weeks had been hellish, for the young Elves had their minds on anything other than their lessons.  Any time an Elf-maiden chanced to walk by a window, three heads would swivel, necks craning until the maiden was out of sight.  Erestor had toyed with the idea of moving the lessons into a room without a window, say the wine cellar, but he suspected that even so he would be fighting the proverbial losing battle.

            A few weeks after this conversation had taken place, two of the Elves under discussion, Elrohir and Elladan, were devising a plan for an exploit with which they intended to cover themselves in glory.  Unfortunately, to cover themselves in glory, they would have to cover Anomen in—something else.

Almost as soon as Anomen had arrived in Rivendell, he had impressed everyone with his almost preternatural ability to remain clean.  Whenever Anomen accompanied Elladan and Elrohir on their missions of mischief, the twins would return with clothes torn and soiled, but Anomen would stroll back into the Hall as if he'd merely been at tea, his hair tidy, fingernails clean, clothes unrumpled and unstained.  For centuries Elladan and Elrohir had enjoyed twitting Anomen over his tidiness, but they had decided that it was time for more radical action.  They planned to cook up a foul-smelling concoction in a kettle, hoist the vessel into a tree, and upend it over Anomen as he climbed out of his favorite bathing pool, preferably before he had a chance to pull on any garments.

To set their plan in action, they first needed to secure a kettle.  This would have to be purloined from the kitchen whilst the head cook was absent.  The other cooks might look the other way, but the head cook had, over the centuries, grown to be wary whenever the twins were spotted in the vicinity of the kitchen.  The head cook's culinary creations had been spoiled far too many times than he cared to count by the addition of supernumerary ingredients.  For this he blamed Elladan and Elrohir, and a permanent state of war now existed between cook and twins.

            The twins sauntered by the kitchen several times, glancing in at windows and doors.  The head cook was nowhere to be seen.

            "Elladan," said Elrohir, "I will go after the kettle.  You stand watch.  If the head cook returns, give me plenty of warning.  Remember that he has threatened to add me to the menu if he ever again catches me in the kitchen!" 

            Elladan took up a position from which he could see anyone approaching the kitchen, and Elrohir went into the kitchen, smiling innocently at all and sundry.  No one was fooled, of course, but no one was about to stop him.  The twins were adored whilst the head cook was not.

            Unfortunately for Elrohir, his brother almost immediately became distracted at the sight of a small party of Men riding through the gates of Rivendell.  Elladan glanced around quickly and saw no sign of the head cook.  He decided that there could be no harm in briefly abandoning his watch.  Of course, even the worst writer of third-rate fantasy fiction could have predicted what would happen next: as soon as Elrohir departed his post, the head cook returned lugging a sack of flour that he had gone to fetch from one of the storehouses.

            Elrohir had just selected a kettle that he thought would be suitable.  He hoisted it, turned about—and found himself staring at the head cook's apron.

            "I would have thought you too old for this sort of mischief," growled the cook.  "Shall I have your father summoned?"

            "Oh, no, please!"

            "Glorfindel then?"

            "NO!"

            Shall I just settle things myself, then?"

            Elrohir nodded mutely.

            "I hope," teased the cook, "that you don't think yourself too old to scrub pots because a great quantity of them are in need of scouring.  Or mayhap you would prefer scalding and plucking all these fowl?"

            "Pots are good," said Elrohir meekly.  How humiliating!  Glorfindel had at last grudgingly conceded that he and his brother were too old for skivvy duty in camp, and now here he stood in full view of a kitchen filled with Elf-maidens who were bending their heads together, whispering and giggling and staring while trying to appear as if they were not.  The mortified Elf did his best to pretend that he did not notice.  After a while, however, Elrohir could no longer force himself to ignore the comments and the sidelong glances, for he found himself growing increasingly interested in these Elf-maidens.  In fact, he suddenly realized, his interest was not the only thing growing.  Oh, no, he moaned to himself, this was the second time in a week that this had happened!  Whatever was wrong with his body that parts of it should rise unbidden?  There must be something the matter with him!  Perhaps he should ask his father—no! that would be too mortifying!  Glorfindel?  Only slightly less mortifying.  Erestor?  Out of the question!

            His nerves and muscles taut, Elrohir frantically daubed at the dish before him.  His splashing attracted the attention of the head cook.

            "Here, you, you'd better not be making a mess there!"

            "I'm trying not to," squeaked Elrohir.  "Truly, sir, I am trying not to.  But it is very hard," he added with a gasp.

            "See that you control yourself," warned the cook.  "Ah, the dough has risen.  I'd best punch it down."

            Elrohir moaned faintly.  He scrubbed, he dried, he polished.  At last the cook pronounced himself satisfied.

"Very well, then, I think you're done."

Elrohir stepped back from the table.  The cook laughed.

"Why you're no better than a little elfling!  You're all wet down your front!" 

            Elrohir let out a wail. Thoroughly unmanned, or unelfed if you prefer, he shot from the room, leaving the cook perplexed.

            "Wouldn't have thought that such a little thing would have upset the lad so."  The cook shrugged and turned back to punching down the rising dough.

            Meanwhile, Elladan, oblivious to his brother's plight, was watching his father greet the Men who had just arrived in Rivendell.  One he recognized as Halbarad, who had fought alongside the Elves at Dol Guldur.  A second, hooded Ranger, proved to be a women once her cloak had been removed.  She looked soul-worn and dispirited.  If she had been an Elf, Elladan would have thought that she was fading.  A third Man, who rode before Halbarad, proved to be a child of no more than four in Man years.  Elladan thought he had never seen an urchin so scruffy and disheveled.  His brown hair was tangled, his clothes dirty and tattered.

            "I have seen Orcs better groomed," Elladan whispered to Anomen, who attracted by the bustle, had joined him.

            "Yes," agreed Anomen.  "If fact," he added with a grin, "he makes you and Elladan look neat."

            It was all Elladan could do to hide his smirk.  "Just you wait, Anomen," he thought to himself.  "You'll get your comeuppance soon enough."

            At that moment the lady, who had dismounted, suddenly swayed and would have fallen had not Elrond reached out his hand and grasped her arm.

            "Take this Lady to the House of Healing," he commanded one of the servants.

            "My son," she said faintly.

            "Fear not, Lady Gilraen.  He shall be looked after."

            "Yes," Halbarad assured her.  "I will stay by his side until all arrangements have been completed for his upbringing."

            Gratefully, the lady nodded, and, gently supported on either side by an Elf-maiden, she was led away to the House of Healing.

            Elrond then commanded that Halbarad and the child likewise be escorted to a chamber where they could rest and refresh themselves.

            After the guests had departed, Elrond turned to Elladan and Anomen.  "I wish to speak to you, as well as Elrohir, in the library.  Fetch Elrohir and join me at once."

            "Yes, Ada," the two replied, and then they hastened off in search of Elrohir. Elladan felt guilty when he realized that he had completely forgotten his promise to Elrohir, and his dismay increased when he peered in at the kitchen door and was greeted by a grinning head cook.

"If you are looking for your brother, I believe he has run off to change his clothes.  He got a little messy whilst in the kitchen."

Elrohir was indeed in his room pulling on a fresh tunic and leggings.  He stared balefully at Elladan, who prayed that Elrohir would not decide to make him rather than Anomen the target of his next prank.

After Elrohir had tidied up, the three hurried to Elrond's sanctum.  As soon as they entered the chamber, they realized that a matter of great importance was about to be discussed.  Sitting to either side of the Lord of Imladris were Glorfindel and Erestor, and all three Elves looked grave.  Elrond gestured for the three young Elves to take a seat.

Elrond commenced.  "As Erestor has been your tutor, I have no doubt that you are familiar with the Battle of the Last Alliance."

The three young Elves nodded their heads.

"You, Elrohir, tell me a little about the outcome of the battle."

"The Dark Lord was defeated, the ring cut from his hand by Isildur.  Ai! the victory was dear, for Isildur was then slain by some of Sauron's surviving forces."

"And," Elladan continued the story, "the line of Gondorian kings was broken.  For the lives of countless men Gondor has been ruled by a Steward, and no one now looks for the return of the king."

"Yet return he shall," declared Elrond.  "Through many fathers, the Ranger child who arrived today is a direct descendant of Isildur.  He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn—and heir to the throne of Gondor."

The young Elves stared at Elrond wordlessly.  That scruffy child was potentially the king of Gondor!?"

Elrond smiled dryly.  "I will admit that he does not _look like the heir to a throne, but so he is.  His father was but lately slain by Orcs, and his surviving kin have brought him here in hopes that we will give him sanctuary and raise him to adulthood.  I have agreed."_

"I tell you this," he continued, "because safeguarding the child shall be your task as much as mine.  You will defend him both through force of arms and through your silence.  Force of arms you understand.  As for silence, the name Aragorn, son of Arathorn, is to be forgotten, even by the child himself.  Henceforth he is to be addressed as 'Estel'.  His true name is never to be uttered."

            "Oh," said Elrohir flippantly, "we have had much practice in _that!"_

            Elrond quelled his son's glibness with a single withering glance that required only the barest movement of his famous eyebrows.

            "Now as to his upbringing, Erestor, you of course will be his tutor, and Glorfindel will supervise his weapons training.  Since he has but newly arrived, I do not wish to put him in a chamber by himself.  Anomen, as you know what it is to be a fosterling, I will put him in your room for the time being until it seems good to me to make different arrangements."

            Anomen was horrified.  He was to share a room with that grubby urchin!?

            "But, Ada, the child is so, so, so—"

            "Dirty?" suggested Elrohir with a smirk.

            "That problem can be addressed," observed Elrond.  "I have given orders that a cauldron of warm water be placed in your antechamber, as well as a stock of soaps and cloths.  If you don't want Estel to contaminate your pristine chamber, then no doubt you should give him a bath directly."

            Elrond arose.  Keeping his face straight, he could not resist adding, "It does seem fitting, Anomen, that you be the one to give the child a bath, as cleanliness matters greatly to you and much less so to my other sons."  With that, he nodded his dismissal of the three young Elves.

            As soon as Anomen, Elladan, and Elrohir had stepped outside the chamber, the twins began to twit Anomen.

            "Well, Anomen," teased Elladan, "you have an opportunity to spread your gospel of tidiness."

            Added Elrohir, "Now that's what you call 'ironic'.  Indeed, if Erestor were to ask for an illustration of 'ironic', I think this situation would do nicely, don't you think, Elladan?"

            "Hmm, _I think we could call it an example of 'poetic justice'."_

            Anomen glared at the twins.  "Will you at least help me?"

            "Oh, no," said Elrohir with a virtuous air.  "Ada has charged _you_ with this task."

            "Yes," Elladan chimed in.  "As Ada said, 'cleanliness matters greatly to you and much less so to' us!  This is no affair of ours!"

            Chortling, the twins strolled off.

            Anomen asked a passing servant which guest room had been assigned to the Rangers and went off to get acquainted with his new foster brother.  He found him perched on a window sill, lining up toy warriors into battle formations.  Halbarad, who sat before the fire, oiling his sword, had taken advantage of the opportunity to freshen up, but Estel was as dirty as ever.  He stared suspiciously at the Elf.

            "I am Anomen."

            Silence.

            "And you are Estel?"

            "That's a silly name.  I want my own name."

            "Estel is a good name.  It means 'hope'."

            "I still like my name."

            "You have not lost that name.  You must merely put it aside for awhile."

            "Why?"

            "Until you can best make use of it.  You would not want to wear it out, would you?"

            The boy looked at him solemnly.  "Can a name be worn out?"

            "Oh, yes.  Which is why we wish you to put aside your name for a while, to safeguard it so that it will remain unstained.  When you do take it out again, it will be as shiny as ever."

            "And my father's name?"

            "Shall be as bright as yours."

            This seemed to satisfy Estel.

            "Do you like horses, Estel?"

            The boy nodded.

            "Would you like to see the stables."

            "Oh, yes!"

            "And then would you like to see the armory and the training fields?"

            "Yes!"

            "Afterward I shall show you your room."

            "This is my room.  I'm staying with nuncle Halbarad."

            Halbarad spoke.  "Since arrangements have been made for your care, I shall be leaving before dawn tomorrow."

            "But I want you to stay with me!?"

            "If I did so, I would have to give up all hope of tracking down the Orcs who slew your father."

            This the boy understood, although he still looked sad.  Anomen tried to cheer him.

            "Your mother will be remaining in Rivendell."

            Estel shook his head gloomily.  "She has gone to the House of Healing.  I won't be with her very often."

            "But," said Halbarad, "you _will be spending much time on the training fields."_

            Estel lifted up his head, his eyes shining.  "Yes," he said softly, "and someday _I will hunt Orcs."_

            Estel proved to be an engaging companion as he went with Anomen on a tour of Rivendell.  He asked shrewd questions for his age and showed every sign of being fearless, especially with regard to horses.  He would have entered each and every stall if Anomen had permitted him.  Indeed, when Anomen turned his back briefly to exchange pleasantries with a stableboy, Estel began to climb into the stall that housed Glorfindel's great stallion.

"Estel, what are you doing!?  No one enters that stall but the Lord Glorfindel!"

"Why?"

"That horse is loyal only to him.  He is likely to trample anyone else."

Estel looked unconvinced, but suffered himself to be led to the next stall.  Anomen began to dare to hope that the human would be an agreeable addition to their family circle.

            Anomen's budding optimism, however, was sorely tried when it finally came time to introduce Estel to his bath.

"What's this?" Estel asked suspiciously when they arrived at the antechamber and he spied the cauldron of warm water.

"Elrond has had a cauldron of warm water placed here for your use."

"What am I supposed to use it _for?"_

"Why, to bathe in."

"I do not wish to bathe."

"A boy who will someday bear an unstained name should keep his body clean to match his name."

"Oh," said the boy, "then I shouldn't have to take a bath until you give me back my name!"

Anomen felt a little faint at the horrifying prospect that Estel would go several decades without taking a bath.

"But, Estel, even when a sword is not being used, it is kept clean.  Did you not notice how Halbarad was oiling his sword?"

"I am not a sword," the boy said stubbornly. "And," he added, his face disingenuous, "you said I must not wear out my name.  I don't want to wear out my body either.  I am afraid that will happen if I wash it too often."

This boy, mused Anomen, was very clever for one so young.  I course, he _was _one of the Dunadain, so mayhap it was to be expected that he would have unusual powers.

"Water will not wear out your body, Estel."

"Water can wear even rock, and I am softer than rock!  Near my old home, there is a flume as polished as a shield.  I used to slide down it all the time, and I was not scratched even once!"

"Yes, well, but that was worn by flowing water, and it took eons.  This is merely a cauldron of warm water, and you will only soak in it for a little while.  I do not think it will wear you away."

            'Well, I am not going to risk it," Estel declared stubbornly.

            Anomen decided that reasoning with Estel would not work.  He would simply have to insist that the child take a bath.  He took a step toward Estel, who retreated a pace and then darted to the side, placing the cauldron between himself and Anomen.  A game of Goblin and Dwarf ensued, with Anomen feinting this way and that, but Estel always anticipating his moves and evading him.  At last Anomen decided to simply lunge at the child.  This was a mistake.  The boy nimbly leaped aside, and Anomen tumbled, fully clothed, into the cauldron.  Estel darted out the door, to be shortly replaced by Elladan and Elrohir, who, attracted by the hubbub, had come to investigate.

            "Why, Anomen," said Elladan, his face solemn, "how very clever of you."

            "Yes," agreed Elrohir, "Anomen is always so careful to keep clean, and now he has discovered a way to wash himself and his garments simultaneously."

            Anomen seized a sponge and threw it at Elrohir, who dodged it.  The wet sponge sailed past his ear and hit Glorfindel full in the face as he entered the room dragging a reluctant Estel by the wrist.  Horrified, Anomen ducked completely under the water, but it did him no good, for the balrog-slayer reached down and with his free hand pulled him up by his braids.

"So this is your idea of giving Estel a bath, is it?" growled Glorfindel.

"He didn't want to bathe."

"Oh, and you did?"

"I fell in," said Anomen faintly.  He heard laughter and to his mortification saw   Arwen peeking into the room.  Estel caught sight of her as well and stopped trying to peel Glorfindel's fingers from his wrist.  He stared at her with frank interest.

"Perhaps," Glorfindel suggested hopefully, "Arwen can persuade Estel to take a bath."

"Oh, yes," said the child.  "I will take a bath for the lady!"  With that the boy shed his clothes with such alacrity that Anomen and the twins hooted with laughter.  Arwen blushed.

"Out! Out!" shouted Glorfindel, pushing Anomen and the twins toward the door.  "As you three are incapable of bathing one small child, at least you can make yourselves useful by making yourselves scarce!"

Elrohir paused as he reached the door.  "Oooh," he simpered, "_I_ will take a bath for the lady!"  Glorfindel cuffed his ears, and he scampered after the other two Elves.  When he reached them, they all chorused as one, "Oooh!  _I_ will take a bath for the lady!"  With that they hastened out of sight, for the look on Glorfindel's face told them that if they did not, he would 'wipe the floor with them'.

The next day, sharing a glass of wine with Erestor and Elrond, Glorfindel laughed as he told them the story.  Elrond, however, grew thoughtful.

"All these years I have been raising Arwen in the company of hellions, first two, then three, and now four.  If she has grown up to be a lady, _I_ cannot take credit for it!"

"Perhaps," said Erestor, "she ought to spend some time with her grandmother.  Galadriel has asked repeatedly that you send Arwen to Lothlórien."

Elrond nodded.  "Yes, I think she should.  It would do her good to visit for two or three decades with Galadriel, who would help her polish her appearance and demeanor.  Arwen excels at horseback riding and other such pursuits, but she models her speech and behavior too much upon her brothers."

"But," Glorfindel pointed out, "if you send her away, Estel may never again take a bath!"

            Elrond scoffed at that.  "Surely in a house full of grown Elves, _someone _ought to be able to get one small boy into a bathtub!"

            "Ah," said Glorfindel, "but this 'one small boy' is remarkably strong-willed, a trait that will serve him well some day but now means only trouble for the rest of us.  I predict that much water will be spilled ere long."

            "Oh," said Elrond airily, with a dismissive gesture, "we can mop up water easily enough."

            "_You can," retorted Glorfindel.  "I am glad to report that in a few days __I will be leading a patrol to the border of Dunland.  I can truthfully say that it is quieter out there!"_

            Just then a knock was heard upon the door.

            "Enter," called Elrond.

            Elrohir and Elladan stepped into the room.

            "Here come two of the miscreants now," said Glorfindel darkly.  He had the satisfaction of seeing both young Elves blanch.  Elrond, however, gestured at them to take seats, and he offered each of them a glass of wine.

            "Well," he said in a genial voice, "what brings you to my chamber?"

            "Ada," said Elladan, "Elrohir and I have been discussing the fact that we are no longer required to attend lessons in the library.  We have been considering how best to use our new-found freedom, and we have decided that we would like to go on patrol."

            "Oh, and why the sudden eagerness to leave Rivendell so soon after returning from the battle for Dol Guldur?"

            Elladan spoke.  "Ada, Mithrandir impressed upon us the fact that the danger has not truly abated.  Now is not the time to relax our vigilance."

            This explanation sounded too facile to Elrond.  "Have you any reason other than that general one?"

"Yes," said Elrohir, "Estel's coming here has reminded us that Orcs still ravage Middle Earth.  We would still avenge our Naneth, and now there is Estel's father to think of as well."

"I hope," said Elrond sternly, "that you have not once again fallen prey to a rash desire for vengeance."

Elrohir reassure him.  "The 'desire for vengeance', yes, Ada, but a 'rash desire', no.  Elladan and I are ever mindful of the torments that Naneth suffered at the hands of the orcs, but we are both clear sighted and able to ride into battle calmly and purposefully.  

            "Very well, ion-nîn.  Glorfindel here will be leading a patrol out in only a few days."  Elrond enjoyed Glorfindel's horrified expression.

            "But, Ada," said Elrohir, "that patrol is for the purpose of training novices."

"Yes," agreed his father, "and you can contribute much to their training, experienced as you are."

"True," said Elrohir, "but we do wish to merely track our foes.  Our goal is to engage in battle with Orcs, whilst novice patrols try to avoid contact with the enemy."

            Elrond sighed.  "I cannot deny your request.  You are both old enough and, I deem, wise enough.  Of course," he added, "your pranks do sometimes force me to doubt the latter!"  He arose to formally give them his blessing.

Truth be told, Elladan and Elrohir had not given _all their reasons for wanting to go on patrol.  The two young Elves had been comparing notes and had discovered that they were both suffering from an excess of, one might say, animal spirits.  They were looking forward to vigorous outdoor exercise partly in hopes that it might somewhat abate their discomfort.  But they had no desire to explain __that to their father, and they had been honest in the reasons that they had given._

Once the twins had their father's permission, they retired to their respective rooms to pack their saddlebags.  Then they met in the garden to enjoy a last stroll around Rivendell.

"Elladan," said Elrohir as they stood looking out over the river, "we will not see Anomen for several weeks."

"True," said Elladan.

"It would be a shame if we did not leave him something to remember us by."

Elladan's eyes sparkled.  "What did you have in mind, brother?"

"We never had a chance to brew up that concoction that I wished to pour over his head as he left his favorite bathing pool."

"Ah, and it would be a shame if we failed to execute such a brilliant plan."

"Truly a shame, yes."

"To the kitchen, brother!"

"Wait a minute, Elladan."

"Yes, Elrohir?"

"This time you must promise that you _will _warn me if the cook is coming!"

Shamefaced, Elladan nodded.

A short while later, the twins had procured a kettle and carried it to a spot near the bathing pool.  Into it they dumped every substance they could think of that was sticky or smelly or, preferably, both.  They heated the concoction over a blaze, stirring it vigorously until it had the consistency of a glutinous pudding.

"We must hoist the kettle into the tree at just the proper moment," observed Elladan.  "How are we to know when the time is right?"

"As for that," replied Elrohir, "I think Estel may be of some use.  Keep stirring and do not let the fire go out."

Elrohir went off in search of Estel.  He found the boy in the stables, staring in fascination at Glorfindel's stallion.

"Estel," said Elladan. "Would you like to help us play a trick on Anomen?"

"What kind of a trick?" asked Estel suspiciously.

Anomen hates being dirty.  We thought we would pour some mud on him.  Wouldn't that be fun?"

Estel considered.  It would pay Anomen back for trying to give him a bath.  He nodded.

"What shall I do?"

"You will be our lookout.  You must come running as soon as Anomen decides to bathe.  Can you do that?"

Estel nodded.

"Good.  Come with me, then, and I'll show you where we are hidden."

The two returned to the spot where Elladan was tending the kettle.  When Estel caught a whiff of the concoction, he grinned.  It would be marvelous indeed if Anomen were to smell like _that_!

"Now," said Elrohir, "you come running here just as soon as Anomen decides to bathe.  That will give us enough time to hoist the kettle into that tree over there."

Estel grinned and scampered back to the Hall, where he vexed Anomen for the rest of the afternoon by dogging his every step.  At last, in exasperation, the Elf announced that he was going to take a bath.  He was sure that the mere mention of that subject would drive away the imp.

As Anomen had hoped, Estel darted away upon hearing the word 'bath'.  As fast as he could, the boy raced to Elladan and Elrohir.

"Anomen will be here soon," he panted.

"Excellent," gloated Elrohir.  With a coiled rope over his shoulder, he climbed the chosen tree and lowered the end of the cord to Elladan, who tied it around the handle of the kettle.  Elladan climbed up the tree to join him, and the two of them pulled the kettle up to the limb on which they perched, a limb that overhung the path leading to the bathing pool.

"Estel," Elrohir called down from their hiding place.  "Can you stay down there until Anomen arrives?"

"Why?" asked Estel, suddenly suspicious again.

"Anomen's senses are keen.  He is likely to notice the peculiar odor of our concoction.  But if you are there, I think he will not.  He will, ah, he will be—distracted by your presence!"

"Oh, of course."  This made perfect sense to Estel, and it did not occur to him that Elrohir was being anything less than complimentary.

So it was that when Anomen arrived at the bathing pool, he encountered Estel sitting upon the bank, idly dipping his feet in the water, the only part of his body that he would willingly immerse—unless he were sliding down a flume, of course.

"Estel, what are you doing here!?"

"Sitting."

"But why are you sitting _here!?"_

"It is a nice place to sit."

"Would you please go sit somewhere else so that I may bathe in privacy."

"_I don't get to bathe in privacy."_

"That is because if _you are left alone, you do not bathe at all!"_

Anomen arose.  "Very well," he said, with all the dignity that could be mustered by an urchin.  Off he stalked.  After he had gone a little ways, however, he crept back as close as he could.  A muddy Anomen was something he had to see!

Elrohir had been right.  After Estel departed, Anomen wrinkled up his nose, then shook his head and sighed.

"That human is so smelly that even after he is gone his odor remains!"

With that, Anomen shucked off his clothes and dove into the bathing pool.  He meant to do a meticulous job of cleansing himself, and so he washed not only his body but his hair, unbraiding it to soap it as thoroughly as possible.  Elladan and Elrohir were ecstatic.  Anomen would be at the height of pristine purity when they baptized him with their putrid concoction.

At length, Anomen climbed out of the bathing pool and stood for a moment to allow the water to drip from his body.  It was then that the twins upended the kettle, allowing the foul mess to cascade onto Anomen.  The unfortunate Elf began to stagger about, quite unable to see, for his eyes were glued shut.  His mouth, however, was working, and he uttered curses in every language he knew—Quenya, Sindarin, Dwarvish, Rohirric, and the Common Speech.  Had he known any oaths in the Black Speech, no doubt he would have uttered those as well.  Hearing the racket, Estel took to his heels.

Another Elf who heard the uproar was Thoron, who was passing by on his way back from the archery fields.  He came running, fearful that some foe had slipped into Rivendell and was attacking his friend.  He stopped, aghast, when he saw Anomen. completely covered in some sticky substance.

"Anomen," he gasped.  "What has happened!?"

"I'll wager Elrohir and Elladan have happened!" spluttered Anomen.

With that, Elrohir and Elladan could no longer restrain themselves.  They burst into laughter.

"Come down from that tree and help clean him up," yelled Thoron.

"We're coming," the two chortled.  Abandoning the kettle, the twins climbed down.  Thoron and the twins led Anomen back into the bathing pool and began trying to remove the mess from his skin and hair.  Still unable to see, Anomen stood in water up to his waist as his friends soaped him up and scrubbed at his hair and skin.  After several minutes it became apparent that the concoction could not be removed easily.  Indeed, by leading Anomen back into the water, his friends had probably made matters worse, for the goop had solidified as it cooled.

            "What," hissed Thoron through gritted teeth, "did you put in this concoction?  Do not tell me that you included pitch!"

            Elladan and Elrohir had to admit that pitch had been one of the ingredients.  Thoron groaned.

            "And how were you planning to remove it once it hardened!?"

            "Well," suggested Elrohir, "perhaps we could light a fire and hold Anomen over it until the pitch begins to soften."

            Anomen let out a shriek that would have frightened a Ringwraith, and Thoron hastily reassured him that no one would hold him over any flames.

            At last the Elves had to reluctantly concede that nothing they could do would free Anomen from the hardened pitch.  They had succeeded in pulling off a few small strips, but that was all.

            "We are going to have to take Anomen to your father," said Thoron solemnly.  "No doubt in one of his many books he has a recipe for an antidote to pitch."

            Miserably, Elladan and Elrohir nodded.  They led Anomen from the pool and wrapped him in their cloaks, although so thoroughly coated was he that he could have returned to the hall unclad without scandalizing anyone's sensibilities.

            As they approached the Hall, a number of Elves gathered to enjoy the most peculiar sight of Elves leading a walking blob of pitch, and someone ran on ahead to inform Elrond that his sons had been up to something.  He met them at the door to the Hall.

            "Pitch," he said grimly.  "Why does it have to be pitch?"

            Elladan and Elrohir looked down at their feet.  Their father handed Elladan a scroll that listed a great number of plants.

            "Off to the woods, you two, and bring back these plants as fast as you can.  I have a small stock and so can begin cleaning Anomen—it is Anomen under there, isn't it?—but I will need much more than I have on hand."

            Elrond led Anomen to the antechamber of his room, where earlier the bathing cauldron for Estel had been set up.  He mixed up several herbs into a paste and, with the help of Glorfindel and Erestor, began the task of softening, dissolving, scrubbing, and peeling the pitch.  He also made judicious use of candles, so Anomen was, after all, held over a flame—or parts of him anyway.

            It is a good thing that Elves sport very little facial and body hair, else the process would have been excruciatingly painful for Anomen.  As it was, as the older Elves peeled patches of the goop from him, a fair amount of skin came away with the pitch.

            At last all the pitch had been removed from Anomen's body, leaving him looking very pink.  All that remained was the hair.  Ai! it was clotted and tangled, and the pitch could not have been scraped from it without tearing out Anomen's hair by the roots. 

            At last Elrond stepped back in defeat.  "Anomen, I cannot remove this foul mess from your hair.  Glorfindel," he said, turning to the seneschal, "he is all yours."

            Grinning, Glorfindel pulled out his knife and moved toward Anomen.  The young Elf's shrieks rang throughout the Hall.  The twins heard Anomen's cries in their rooms, where they had taken refuge after returning with the herbs, and his howls penetrated even into the Hall of Fire, where Estel was hiding.

            When the seneschal was finished, Elrond nodded in satisfaction.  "You have done an excellent job, Glorfindel.  I think shaving it off altogether was far preferable to leaving an uneven fringe all about.   His hair will look neater as it grows back than it would otherwise."

            Glorfindel gave an exaggerated bow.  "Thank you, Elrond.  And now, if you will excuse me."  Glorfindel made for the door.

            "Where are you going now?" Elrond called after his friend.

            "Oh, I have two other young Elves that I mean to skin—unless you object."

            "Glorfindel," replied Elrond, a grim smile on his face.  I do not object in the least."

            That night, Anomen and the twins would have given anything to have been excused from dinner, but Elrond insisted on their presence.  So there they sat, looking down at their plates, certain that every whisper, every laugh was directed at them.  They wished they could pull up their hoods, but Elrond had a strict 'no hoods at the table' policy.  The twins at least could find consolation by reminding themselves that they would be departing in the morning in pursuit of Orcs.  Ai! Anomen had no such comforting thoughts to indulge in!


	2. Estel Takes A Bath

Thank you, _Karri, Farflung, Kawaii ningen kitsune, Jebb_, and _Dragonfly_.  _Dragonfly_, as for removing the pitch from those areas, that's what the candles were for.  ^_^

            The next morning Elladan and Elrohir left well before dawn, their hoods pulled nearly down to their eyes.  As for Anomen, he likewise arose before dawn and, equally well-hooded, made his way to the kitchen to filch some bread and cheese.  Breakfast was a less formal affair than dinner, so he thought Elrond would overlook his absence.  Anomen worried briefly that he ought not to leave Estel to wake up on his own, but then he reassured himself that the imp no doubt could find his way to the dining hall on his own.  So Anomen left Estel sleeping in his truckle bed.  He thought he did, anyway.

            Humans, you see, have the most peculiar custom of sleeping with their eyes closed, even though this odd behavior blocks the shimmering moonlight and starlight.  Of course, as Anomen was to learn, just because a human has his eyes closed, that does not mean the human is asleep.  Humans are very good at feigning unconsciousness for various reasons, such as to get out of unpleasant chores.

            Or to play tricks on Elven foster-brothers.

            As soon as Anomen had left the chamber, Estel leapt from his bed.  He had heard Anomen quietly moving about as he dressed and was not about to let the Elf go off on an adventure without him.  He suspected that, after yesterday, Anomen would be leery of his presence for awhile—hence the child's secretive behavior.  Quickly he dressed—not being particular about his appearance, he never dressed other than quickly—and slipped out of the chamber, padding softly down the hallway in pursuit of Anomen.  Although Estel was not an Elf, he was only a small human and thus could move relatively quietly.

            He saw Anomen disappear into the kitchen and reappear with bread and cheese that he wrapped in a cloth and placed in a bag that he slung over his shoulder.  Estel stole into the kitchen intending to lay claim to his own supply of bread and cheese, but he abandoned that plan when he saw the pastries newly turned out from their pans.  Having neither cloth nor bag, he simply stuffed three of them into the front of his tunic.  Then he resumed his pursuit of Anomen.

               It was easy for Estel to trail Anomen, for, once away from the Hall, Anomen was in no hurry.  Nor was he being particularly careful.  The shade within the forest was more than adequate cover for his needs, for he merely wished to be alone for a little while and was not attempting to hide.  Estel was congratulating himself on his abilities as a tracker, but he could not know that, had Anomen so chosen, he could have vanished into the tree canopy in the proverbial twinkling of an eye.

            After Anomen felt that he was a sufficient distance from the Hall to be left undisturbed for a space, he selected a comfortable looking tree, climbed up to one of the broader limbs, and settled himself for several peaceful hours of humming and singing.

            Estel likewise chose a tree to perch in, but he could not be said to have 'settled himself'.  He watched Anomen intently for a time, waiting for an adventure to materialize.  When no such adventure was forthcoming within the quarter hour, he began to squirm about.  He pulled at a thread in a rent in his tunic, making the tear that much the larger.  He examined a caterpillar that was hunching its way along a nearby branch.  Clinging to the trunk, he stood on tiptoe to pear into a cavity from which he heard scratching noises.  He gathered all the nuts within reach and organized them into companies of warriors.  He made flags for his companies out of twigs and leaves.  At last, as Anomen gave no sign that he would soon shift to a new position, Estel decided to climb down from the tree and explore a bit.  It seemed that he would have plenty of time to wander about before Anomen bestirred himself.

            By this time breakfast had been served, eaten, and cleared.  Elrond was not surprised that Anomen did not show up for the meal, but he sent a servant to fetch Estel.  The servant returned to report that neither foster-son was in their bedchamber.  Elrond raised his eyebrows in surprise.

            "I did not think that, after yesterday, Anomen would want any company on his ramblings."

            "Perhaps," suggested Glorfindel, "it is not so much a matter of what Anomen wants as of what Estel wants."

            "True," agreed Erestor.  "I must say, though, that I am pleased Estel has chosen to spend the day with Anomen.  Elrond, to be honest, I was not looking forward to the commencement of Estel's lessons.  I am glad to have one last day of peace and quiet before starting in with a new pupil."

            "Well, mellon-nîn," said Glorfndel, "be sure to make the most of this day.  I'll wager," he direly predicted, "that it will be the last day of tranquility that we'll enjoy for many a fortnight."

            As Glorfindel muttered darkly about their prospects, Estel was turning over logs and gathering the creatures that swarmed out once their darkness was disturbed.  He tried to wrap a leaf around his collection, but his pickings crawled out too easily.  He sat down and removed a boot in order to strip off a sock, and into that improvised pouch he stuffed his captives, tying a knot in the top to prevent their escape.  He tucked the sock into the front of his tunic, where it joined the three pastries that he had purloined from the kitchen.  Then he wandered on in search of new quarry.

            He spotted conies in thickets and squirrels in trees, but both were too quick for him.  Birds, of course, were out of the question.  At length he spotted a ground animal that did not move as quickly as a cony.  The squat creature scuttled along low to the ground and was adorned with an exceptionally bushy tale.  Its coloration was striking, as it had a dark black coat parted down the middle by a dramatic white streak.  Estel crept nearer.  It saw him and opened its mouth to display its needle-like teeth, but it did not charge.  Instead, it backed away.  Estel drew nearer.  It backed up a little more, again showing no sign that it would attack.  Emboldened, Estel came even closer.  The creature turned about.  Fearful that it was about to bolt, Estel sprang forward to seize its uplifted tail.

            A foul, putrid, stinking mist filled the air and enveloped Estel.  His clothes, his hair, his nose, his mouth, his eyes—every inch of Estel was bathed in this acrid cloud that smelled like rotten-eggs combined with bile and stale urine.  The fumes burned Estel's eyes, nose, and throat.  He could not see, he could not breathe—he could, alas, smell and taste.  Staggering about, he at last tripped over a log and fell flat upon his face into a puddle of stagnant water.  Thus he at last inadvertently bathed his eyes and regained a bit of sight, albeit his vision was distorted by his tears.  At the same time, however, he had landed full on the three pastries and his creature-stuffed sock, and a sticky ooze spread across his chest and his stomach.  Sitting up, he reached down into his tunic and scraped out the remnants of the pastries, which were stained green and brown and black with the bodily fluids of assorted worms, caterpillars, grubs, beetles, centipedes, and spiders.  Estel was not a discriminating diner, but this slop was beyond what even he could stomach.

            Safe in his tree, Anomen caught the first whiffs of the olfactory disaster and wrinkled his nose in disgust.  Glancing up at the sky, he saw from the sun that he ought to be returning to the Hall anyway, so he abandoned his perch, dropping lightly to the ground and striding off toward home.

Estel sat trying to regain his breath, for his lungs seemed to have contracted in protest of the fetid air.  He wheezed and gasped.  Tears continued to well up in his eyes, and he futilely tried to scrape the literally grubby pastry from his hands onto the leaves and twigs about him.  The crushed pastries had been filled with fruit, and, in spite of the malodorous mist, ants and bees began to find their way toward the weeping child.  Soon he was wriggling about and trying with one hand to brush off the ants that were crawling underneath his shirt while at the same time batting frantically with the other at the bees that hovered about trying to land upon him.  At last he leapt to his feet and began to run blindly.

After fleeing wildly for a time, he was too winded to continued, and, sobbing, he leaned against a tree to rest.  As he stilled, he heard the sound of running water, and suddenly he remembered the river that clove the valley of Imladris, giving Rivendell its name.  "If I wash off this sticky stuff, the ants and bees won't bother me," thought Estel with a small measure of happiness.  Listening carefully, he made for the sound of the water and before too long was standing on the banks of the Bruinen.  He stripped off his clothes even more quickly than he had for Arwen three nights past, and he plopped himself down in the shallows.  It was icy cold, of course, making Estel think with longing of the warm cauldron in which he had first bathed, but it was water, and, although it could do little against the odor of skunk, it did allow him to wash off the sticky conglomeration of crust, fruit, and invertebrate.

By and by, Estel recovered his equanimity.  True, he reeked, but that had never troubled Estel much.  To him, it was enough that his eyes, nose, and throat no longer burned and that insects were no longer trying to picnic on his belly and chest.  He rinsed the mess off his tunic and leggings as well and, shivering a little, pulled his clothes back on.  Then he looked about with interest at the scene before him.  The tumbled rocks alone could have entertained him for hours—small water-smoothed stones for collecting, large craggy boulders for climbing.  But what attracted him the most was an expanse of flat, river-polished granite that put him in mind of the flume he had so loved to slide down.  He picked his way over to it, sat down on the edge, and gave himself a push.  Sure enough, he slid downstream several feet on the smooth surface.  He jumped up and ran back to the top, plunked himself down, and pushed off somewhat harder.  Further and faster he went.  Again he leapt up and sat himself down at the beginning of the chute.  This time he pushed off as hard as he could.  He shot down the flume—and into the river channel.  The water was cold, the current swift.  Gasping and flailing, Estel was swept around a bend in the river—and was gone.


	3. Bert And Ernie

_Farflung__: I hardly know how to thank you for your kind and thoughtful reviews of my other stories as well as this one!  I'd like to respond to some of your specific comments, but I think I'll have to wait to Winter Break to do so in order to do a proper job of it._

Greetings and thanks, _Grumpy, Kitsune, Jebb, and Dragonfly.  Glad I haven't driven anyone away with images of fruit-flavored bug guts._

_Karri_, I don't think I answered your question last time.  Yes, I plan on additional stories of Anomen growing up.  Enough people seem to like reading them to make the effort worthwhile.  Plus, of course, I enjoy writing them! 

            As Anomen drew near the Hall, he once again pulled his hood up.  How long, he wondered, would it take for his hair to grow long enough to be braided.  He hoped Mithrandir would soon pay a visit to Rivendell, for perhaps the wizard would know some spell that would cause his hair to grow back in faster.    Failing that, perhaps he should ask Elrond to search his tomes of medicinal lore for a potion or unguent that would hasten the regrowth of his hair.

            He saw Thoron approaching and for a moment was poised to flee aside into the garden, but then he reminded himself that an unpleasant encounter grew no less unpleasant for delay.  Besides, Thoron hadn't teased him at all last night; maybe his friend had no intention of doing so today.

            "Mae govannen, Thoron."

            "Mae govannen, Anomen."

            The two friends stood awkwardly for a moment.  Thoron in fact did not wish to twit Anomen about the loss of his hair, but he was not sure how to start a conversation on any other subject.  Ignoring Anomen's hair—or lack thereof—would be like pretending not to see a cave-troll in a kitchen.

            "Um, Anomen?"

            "Yes?"

            "How are you feeling today?—I mean, it must have hurt when Elrond peeled that gunk from your skin."

            "A little."

            "Uh, I was wondering—if you don't mind my asking—how did they remove the pitch from—I mean it must have been especially hard to remove it—from certain spots."

            Anomen winced.  "Yes!"

            "So," said Thoron, unable to repress his curiosity, "how did Elrond manage?"

            "Um, well, he softened the pitch by warming it somewhat."

            "But how was he able to warm the pitch without boiling you in a cauldron!?"

"Candles."

"Candles?"

"Yes, he held candles near—parts."

 Thoron shuddered.

"And what did you say about that!?"

"Say?  I _said_ nothing.  I _screamed.  Surely you must have heard me!"_

"Yes, I did."  Thoron had to grin.  He momentarily forgot that he had resolved not to tease Anomen.  "Actually," he smirked, "I think all of Imladris heard you!  Oh, I am sorry," he added hastily.  "I didn't mean to make fun of you."

To Thoron's surprise, and Anomen's as well, Anomen returned his grin.  He could no longer deny the humor of the situation, even if he were the one in the middle of it.

"How could you _not make fun of me!?  Whoever heard of a bald elf!"_

Both young Elves were laughing out loud now.  In a nearby chamber, Glorfindel, hearing them, sighed and turned to Erestor and Elrond.  "You see," he said dolefully, "not even skinning that scamp does any good.  He recovers all too quickly."

Elrond nodded his head.  "I suppose I might as well make up some unguent for Anomen's scalp to help his hair grow in faster, since it seems leaving him bald will serve no purpose."  And, he thought to himself, it would serve Elrohir and Elladan right if they returned to find that Anomen had a head start, so to speak, on regaining his locks.

Thoron and Anomen chatted amiably for a few more minutes.  Then Anomen bade his friend farewell and made his way to his chamber, where he changed into fresh clothes and washed his face and hands.  He did not, of course, have to tidy his hair, so it took him very little time to prepare himself for dinner.  He idled away a few minutes thumbing through a volume of maps of Middle Earth that he had not yet returned to Erestor.  Afterward, he strolled toward the dining hall.  He did not even bother to pull up his hood as he left his room but walked down the hallway only a little self-consciously.  Elves grinned at him as he passed, and, although a little shamefaced, he grinned back.

Arriving in the dining hall, he approached the head table and was struck by how empty it seemed.  No Elrohir or Elladan of course, but also no Estel.  He wondered whether Estel had been banished from the table as not fit to be seen—or smelled.  It would not have surprised him.  He bowed to Elrond and took his place.  Elrond looked at him expectantly.

"Estel?"

"Pardon, Ada?"

"Where is Estel?"

"I do not know, Ada."

"Where did you leave him?"

"In our chamber."

"Then go and fetch him, ion-nîn."

"I mean I left him in our chamber this morning.  He is not there now."

Elrond looked concerned, although not yet alarmed.

"Estel was not with you today?"

"No, Ada.  I left before he had arisen."

"And, Erestor," Elrond said, turning to his friend, "the child did not appear for lessons, is that not correct?"

"Yes, Elrond."

"Nor," added Glorfindel, "did I see him about the training fields.  Nor did the stable hands report that they had to chase him out of any stalls."

Slightly more concerned, Elrond looked about the table.  "Has no one seen Estel this day?"

The head cook, who always stopped briefly in the dining hall to make certain that all was well, cleared his throat.

"Your pardon, my lord, but the human has been seen.   That one," he said, pointing to Anomen with his chin, "came into the kitchen this morning and stole some bread and cheese.  A short while later, the little human came in and made off with three pastries—very fine ones, I might add."

Everyone looked at Anomen.

"He was not _with me!" protested Anomen._

"I wonder," said Glorfindel thoughtfully.  "Do you remember a few centuries ago when, unbeknownst to Anomen, he was followed into the woods by Arwen?"

"Yes!"  Elrond grimaced.  "He led Arwen straight into a nest of Orcs."

"But I led her straight out again!" cried Anomen.

"Anomen," Elrond said kindly, "no one is blaming you, either for that day or this.  But I suspect that were you to retrace your steps, you would come upon Estel.  Wrap up a bit of supper for the two of you, and make haste.  Darkness will soon fall."

Anomen sighed.  "I did smell something horrid in the woods today.  I should have known that Estel was near!"  Reluctantly, he arose, carrying away with him some bread, fruit, and cheese.  Last night he would have been delighted to have been excused from the table, but tonight it was merely a nuisance.  Ai! His heart forbode that this would not be the last time he would be sent off in pursuit of Estel.

"Well," chuckled Glorfindel as soon as Anomen had left the table.  "I call _that poetic justice!"_

"Oh, and how so?" asked Elrond, although he suspected that he already knew the answer.

"Anomen led me on a many a merry chase when he was an elfling, as I hope you _do_ recall.  It is only fitting that this human youngling bedevil him in the same fashion."

Erestor agreed.  "Although," the tutor added thoughtfully, "to use a literary term, _I _would call it ironic.  Yes, indeed, a perfect example of irony.  I shall have to make use of this situation in the future when I am called upon to illustrate the concept."

"And what, pray tell, is wrong with 'poetic justice'?" demanded Glorfindel.

"Nothing, nothing—it is merely that 'poetic justice' is not, strictly speaking, a literary term, but rather a phrase that we apply to a situation in which it strikes us that a character has gotten his just deserts."

"Who said I was trying to be literary?" growled the balrog slayer.

Elrond was not much given to sighing and rolling his eyes—he much preferred relying upon his feared and admired eyebrows—but this was one occasion that provoked the more mundane manifestations of frustration.

"If you two wouldn't mind, _could we postpone this, ah, discussion of the relative linguistic merits of 'irony' versus 'poetic justice'?  I would very much like to eat before this excellent repast becomes cold._

Chastened, the two antagonists fell silent and fell to.

At this very moment, Estel would have been glad of any repast, no matter how cold.  The water had carried him a considerable distance downriver.  At first, it had been all he could do to keep from drowning as the rushing water tumbled him over and over.  Fortunately, a tree limb had floated within reach, and Estel lunged for it.  He wrapped his arms around it tightly and clung to it until the river widened and the current slowed.  The branch drifted into the shallows and at last scraped against the bank.  Estel let go of the limb and on trembling legs staggered up the bank.  For a while he sat shivering.  Soon after the sun fell, however, he noticed that a campfire had sprung up not too far in the distance.  Campfire!  Grownups!  Warmth!  Food!  Estel dragged himself to his feet and on stiff legs wobbled toward the campfire.  As he came near, he spied two large figures hunched over it, warming their hands.  Actually, these were two very, very large figures.  Indeed, they were two very, very, very large figures.  In point of fact, they were Trolls.  At the moment, however, Estel was thinking that big people meant grownups, who were helpful to little people.  Very big people must mean very big grownups, who would be _very_ helpful to little people.  He stumbled forward into the ring of light cast by the fire. 

            Estel was too stupefied by the cold to speak.  He simply stared numbly at the huge creatures.  For their part, the Trolls, stupefied by, well, simply stupefied—they were Trolls after all—stared right back.  They did not know what to make of him.   Estel was a little smaller than the items that typically appeared on their menu—generally Dwarf size or better—plus said menu items did not usually stroll up to the cooking fire.  Plus, in spite of his plunge into the river, Estel still stank.  So it did not immediately spring to the Trolls' minds, such as they were, that Estel might be edible.  Then, too, they had just finished cooking their dinner—a cow, since no Dwarves had happened by—and were not on the lookout for provender.  (Trolls tend not to plan ahead.)  So they stared at Estel, and Estel stared at them.

            The first thing that broke through Estel's numbness was the tantalizing smell of roasted cow.  He looked about to where a platter lay heaped with various tasty-looking cuts of beef.  Expectantly, he turned back toward the Trolls.  In his experience, when visitors arrived at mealtime, grown-ups would invite them to partake of food and drink.  He was a visitor who had arrived at mealtime.  These were obviously big, big grown-ups.  They were going to politely offer him a plate.  He waited patiently.

            The Trolls still sat silently agog at the child.  Estel continued to wait patiently.  A stick in the fire shifted and slipped.  The glowing end of another branch broke off.  At length, Estel remembered that Halbarad had cautioned him, when bidding him farewell at Rivendell, that he would have to become accustomed to new ways.  Different people did things differently, the Ranger had said.  Perhaps these big, big grown-ups were not going to offer him any food; perhaps they were simply waiting for him to help himself before going on with the meal.  If they were waiting on _him, then the polite thing to do would be to get on with it._

            Estel glanced apologetically at the Trolls and hastened to the platter.  Seizing hold of a fairly good size chunk of beef, he tore into it, smiling around a mouthful to show the Trolls that he appreciated what needed to be done.  This broke the Trolls' trance.

"'Ere now, wot's it doin'?" exclaimed the first one, Bert.

 "Eatin'," replied his companion, Ernie.

"I know _that, Dwarf-brain!  But wot's it eatin'?"_

"Our dinner," replied Ernie.

"I _know that!  But why's it eatin' _our_ dinner?"_

This stumped his companion.  But after thinking for a while—a great while, actually, as thinking is a slow process for a Troll—he had an answer.

"'It's eatin' our dinner 'cause it's the only dinner around—there now!" Ernie said triumphantly.

This truly impressive piece of cognition had the desired effect upon his companion, who stared at Ernie in awe, mouth agape.  Meanwhile, enough time had passed that Estel had bolted down the chunk of beef.  As it had been a good size piece, he was no longer hungry.  Now he was thirsty.  Looking around, he spied a flask.  He laid hold of it but could not remove the stopper.  Hauling his find to Bert, he said, with the utmost politeness, "If you please, sir, would you remove the stopper?"

"Waddya want me to remove the stopper _for_?"

"I want to drink from this flask."

"Oh."  Bert scratched his head.  This reply made sense.  Feeling at a loss, the Troll removed the stopper and handed the flask back to Estel, who seized it and downed perhaps more ale than was strictly good for him.  Soon he found himself sleepy.  He looked about him once more and spied several blankets.

"May I use one of those blankets?" he said, this time addressing Ernie.

"Waddya want a blanket for?"

"To keep me warm while I sleep."

Another sensible reply.  Ernie nodded helplessly.  He looked at Bert.  Bert looked at him.  They both shrugged.  Estel rolled up in the blanket and was almost instantly asleep.

"Whadduh we do now?" asked Ernie.

Bert sat deep in thought.  His mind was suddenly illuminated by a spectacular realization.  "Say," he exclaimed, "we ain't et yet.  There's that platter o' meat still."

"What's left 'o it," grumbled Ernie.

"Eh, that thing, whate'er it is, it didn' et no mor'n a mouthful."  Which was true, in Troll terms.

"Ain't no mor'n a mouthful itself," said Ernie mournfully.  It was beginning to dawn on him that their dinner guest might be edible.  But he joined his companion in demolishing the contents of the platter.  Then they sat about and belched for a bit, being Trolls.  By and by, Bert said, "Be dawn soon."

"Ayuh."

"Have to get under cover afore sunrise."

"Ayuh."

"Whudduhbout that thing?"

"Yeh wanna carry it back to the cave?"

"Nah.  You?"

"Nah."

 Having reached consensus, the two Trolls arose and shambled off, leaving Estel rolled up in a blanket by the embers of the dying fire.

 When Estel awoke in the morning, it was full daylight.  He was disappointed that there was no sign of the big, big grownups, but a few cold bits of meat remained on the platter.  These he devoured.  He then investigated the flask.  Finding that it still contained a considerable quantity of ale, he drained it to the last drop.  This was probably not a good thing.  After finishing off the flask, Estel waited patiently by the dead fire for a bit, just in case the big, big grownups would be coming back, but when they did not return within the quarter hour, he decided that they would not be returning soon—at least not by his standards.  He neatly folded the blanket to show that he was a grateful guest and set off heading downstream.  This decision perhaps reflected his ale-addled wits.  Had he been clear-headed, it may have occurred to him that, as he had come downstream, returning to Rivendell would require that he reverse course.  Instead, he looked about and noticed that upstream of the Troll camp the way looked very rocky, whereas downstream the bank was less obstructed.  Thinking to himself that he would make faster way over smooth ground, he marched off with great determination, heading south—away from Rivendell and, had he known it, toward such perilous realms as Dunland.


	4. Out Of The Frying Pan And Into The Fire!

_Gwil__: Don't be too hard on the twins.  It was thoughtlessness, not meanness, that caused them to put the pitch into the concoction.  They did not intend for Anomen to lose his hair!  Also, you don't have to worry about the stories losing their focus on Legolas.  Estel is simply one more character with whom our favorite Elf can interact in interesting ways.  You'll see that in this chapter there is quite a bit of Legolas._

_Jebb__: Don't worry.  Anomen's hair will grow back quickly enough, with a little help from Elrond.  But first I mean to make some use of his baldness, as you will see in this chapter.  By the way, I love your slogan for a tipsy Estel: 'Don't drink and hike'!_

_Grumpy_ and _Dragonfly:  Yes, I think only Estel could have pulled off such an audacious feat! (Although it helped that the Trolls were so stupid.)_

_Dragonfly: _You'll get a look at what is happening back at Rivendell in this installment.

_Karri: _Bilbo has in fact already encountered his Trolls.  There will be a passing mention of that in this chapter.  Incidentally, one of my Trolls shares a name with one of Bilbo's, but they are two different Trolls.  I wanted to use the name 'Bert' and decided to go ahead and do so anyway because 'Bert'n'Ernie' are inseparable.

            Anomen was retracing his steps from that morning, looking carefully side to side to locate where Estel's path had diverged from his own.  At last he noticed a spot where some vegetation had been disturbed, and before too long he stood under the tree where Estel had perched waiting for an adventure to transpire.  The ground under the tree was littered with abandoned little flags made out of twigs and leaves, as well as an unusual concentration of nuts, the remnants of Estel's imaginary warriors.  Anomen began to track Estel's path away from the tree.  As he approached the scene of the encounter with the skunk, the odor of that debacle grew stronger and stronger.  The stench was well-nigh overwhelming for the sensitive nose of an Elf.  Anomen's eyes filled with tears, and he found himself holding his breath.

            At length Anomen came upon the abandoned sock.  He held it with his fingertips, at arm's length, just long enough to determine that it was indeed a small-sized sock that, judging from its filthiness, no doubt had been worn by Estel.  He resumed his search.   Estel's path from that point was easy to trace, for the frantic child had been crashing through the forest with great abandon.

            The trail led Anomen at last to the river.  There sat Anomen's boots by the flume.  Anomen carefully searched the river bank up and down from that point.  The conclusion was inescapable: Estel had gone into the river but had not come out again.  Anomen paused only a moment before heading downstream.  He would not take the time to return to the Hall to notify Elrond, who in any event would no doubt send out scouts on his own initiative once Anomen and Estel failed to reappear at the Hall by sunset.  No, if Estel had been swept away by the river, the faster Anomen reached him the better.

            All through the night and into the next day Anomen loped on, watching carefully for any sign of Estel, either that he still remained in the water or that he had left the river.  The first whole day of his search drew to a close before Anomen found the spot where Estel had dragged himself from the river.  The child had then turned south.  Darkness fell soon after Anomen discovered the tracks, and Anomen spotted a flickering light in the distance.  A campfire?  Yes.  And Estel's footprints led straight toward the fire.  It was not likely that Estel had lit it, but perhaps he was sheltering with the person who had.  If not, mayhap the owner of the fire would nonetheless have news of the child.  Anomen cautiously drew near.  Ai! a Troll camp!  Two of those huge creatures sat by the fire, gnawing on last night's bones as they waited for that day's meal to cook.  Anomen studied the camp carefully.  He saw many cow bones scattered about, but, praised be the Valar! nothing that looked like human bones.  Yet it was undeniable that Estel's footsteps led straight to the Trolls.  Was he trussed up in a Troll cave somewhere?  Anomen decided that a conversation with these Trolls was in order—but how did one go about chatting with a Troll?  He did not know anyone who had exchanged words with a Troll and lived to tell about it.  Well, there was a story Mithrandir had lately told—something about Trolls and Dwarves, and with a Periannath mixed up in it—but Anomen doubted that the tale was relevant in this instance.  At wit's end, he recklessly declared to himself, "I'm just going to step out and hail them.  I'll outrun them if they try to catch me."  And so he arose and walked into the light cast by the fire.

            This was the second night in a row that an unexpected guest had strolled into the Troll camp.  The creatures gawked at Anomen just as they had gawked at Estel the day before.  He looked somewhat like an Elf, but in their experience, Elves had always come equipped with long, long hair.  A bald Elf?  They couldn't wrap their minds around the concept—although, their minds being small, there weren't many concepts they _could wrap their minds around._

            Taking advantage of their stunned state, Anomen addressed the Trolls.

            "Have you seen any unusual creature recently?" he asked carefully.

            "Huh," Bert replied dumbly.

            "A small creature, walks on two legs—like a baby Troll.  Dressed in clothes—like a baby Troll!   Smells rather badly—like, uh, smells rather badly," Anomen finished lamely.

            The truth slowly dawned on Bert and Ernie.

            "Say, Bert, that little thing wot came by last night and et our dinner—do you suppose it was a baby Troll!"

            "Aye, _that would explain it!" said Ernie.  "It was kind of cute an' all, warn't it?"_

            "Was?" said Anomen anxiously.

            "Yeah, tiny and all, jest a mi-ni-uh-cher Troll," said Bert.

"Warn't no mor'n a mouthful," said Ernie mournfully.

Anomen's blood ran cold.  Had they, had they—?

"Yep," said Bert, "no mor'n a mouthful—not worth the trouble o' cookin'—and now I know 'twas a baby Troll, glad we didn'."  Bert shuddered.  "Be nasty, ettin' a baby Troll.  Sorta thing a Dwarf'ud do."

"Stank, too," added Ernie.  "Prob'ly woulduh bin in-ed-uh-ta-bull."

Anomen exhaled in relief.  The creature stank—definitely Estel—and the Trolls hadn't eaten him.

"So where is this baby Troll?"

Bert shrugged.  "Dunno."

"Yeah," said Ernie.  "Left it sleepin' by the fire.  Came back the nex' night, warn't here no more."

Had Estel been dragged off by an animal? worried Anomen.

"But," added Bert, "polite little thing, for all it was so stinky."

"Uh-huh," agreed Ernie.  "Folded up the blanket wot we let it use."

Anomen again exhaled in relief.  "Thank you," he said to the Trolls.  "Sorry to have troubled you."

"Oh, no trouble 'tall," said Bert.  "This spot's gettin' to be real busy.  Firs' the stinky creature, now you.  Pro'bly somethin' good to eat'll happen by any minit now.  Gettin' tired of cow, we is."

Anomen felt a little sick but smiled politely.  He circled around to the downstream of the Troll camp, and before too long he had again picked up Anomen's trail.

            At about the same time that Anomen was making his discoveries at the Troll camp, Elrond was making one of his own back in Rivendell.  Anyone with a life spanning thousands of years is bound to make a mistake at least once a millenium.  So it was with Elrond.  Before turning in the night before, he had not checked to make sure that Anomen had indeed returned with Estel.  Arwen was departing for Lothlórien in only a few more days, and Elrond stayed in the Hall of Fire talking quietly with her until very late.  Arwen would be dwelling with her grandmother Galadriel for several decades, and Elrond can be forgiven if his daughter preoccupied his thoughts that night.

The next day, Elrond had arisen well before dawn and broke fast with Glorfindel, who was setting out that morning with a patrol of novices.  He lunched with Erestor in the library, for he wished to use the time to go over a trade agreement that had been proposed by some of the less hostile Southrons.  Not until the evening meal did he notice the absence of Estel and Anomen.

"Erestor, did Estel attend his lessons today?"

"No, Elrond.  I had been meaning to say something to you about that."

Rather more concerned than the night before, Elrond looked about the dining hall.  "Has anyone seen Estel this day?"

Silence.

Elrond looked hopefully at the head cook.  He shook his head.

"Has anyone seen _Anomen_ this day?"

Silence.

Elrond's expression changed from one of concern to alarm.  Estel had gone out and not come back.  Anomen had gone after him and not returned either.

"Berenmaethor."

"Yes, my Lord."

"Form up a patrol at once—and send a messenger after Glorfindel."

Berenmaethor bowed and hurried from the room.

"Erestor."

"Yes, Elrond."

"You must tend to matters here.  I will accompany Berenmaethor."

Elrond arose and with no further ceremony strode from the room.  He had had two princelings in his care, and he had managed to lose them both.

            The day of Elrond's discovery, one of those princelings had been moving along at a steady clip.  Although he was barefoot, Estel's energy and spirits had been restored by the Trolls' inadvertent hospitality.  Moreover, since he had chosen to follow the smoother path that led south, he encountered no obstacles to slow him.  Unbeknownst to him, however, step by step he was inexorably approaching a hunting party of Dunlendings.  Times had been hard for the Dunlendings since they had fought with the Elves—some of their best hunters had fallen in that battle—and in their desperation they were following game into Eregion, a place that they had formerly shunned.  A river, of course, is always a good place to look for game.  Many animals live alongside the river; others draw near out of thirst.

            So it was that a party of Dunlendings concealed in the undergrowth near the river caught sight of a small child trotting steadily downstream along the bank.  It was not an Elfling.  They knew that from the ears.  Besides, Elves generally were not so dirty.  Nor were Elves so stinky, as they could tell Estel was when he drew near enough for them to get a whiff of him.  Seeing that the child was alone, and not an Elf, the leader of the hunters stepped out from his hiding place.

            "Here you, what do you do here?"

            Estel was delighted.  More grownups!

            "I'm going home."

            "Home? You live _south_ of here?" said the leader, pointing downstream.

            Estel considered.  "No," he replied, pointing upstream.  "I live that way."

            The men burst into laughter.

            "You're going the wrong way," said the leader, although not unkindly.  It occurred to him that he ought to take the child to his village.  The Dunlendings had been dwindling even before the battle, and, given the losses they had suffered at the hands of the Elves, the situation had now worsened.  It would not be hard to find a family that would be eager to take in this child.  If the urchin had wandered down from the North, his own kin must be far away indeed, for the only near settlements were those of the Elves of Imladris.  Thus, if they took the child to a Dunlending village, it was very unlikely that anyone would come to reclaim him.

            "What's your name, boy?"

            Estel was about to use his elven name, but, as these were Men, he impulsively decided to use his human one.

            "I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn," he declared proudly.

            Another round of laughter ensued.  The name meant nothing to the untutored Dunlendings, but they did recognize that it was a pretentious name for such a grubby urchin.

            "That name will never do," said the leader.  "It's too long for one so little as you.  From now on, you shall be Ara."

            Estel was dismayed.  Another name!

            "Come along now," said the Dunlending leader, holding out his hand.  Anticipating a meal, Estel went along most willingly.  Sure enough, the Dunlending led Estel back to their camp and served him up a bowl of stew.  After Estel had finished, he looked at the sky.  Several hours of daylight remained.  Estel scrambled to his feet.

            "I thank you for your hospitality, but I must be going now—especially since I have to go back the other way."

            The Dunlendings laughed at Estel's formal way of speaking.  The leader gestured for him to sit back down.  "You must travel with us now."

            "Are you going back up the river?"

            "No, our home lies to the south."

            "Oh," said Estel, puzzled, "then how can I travel with you?  You are going the wrong way."

            "Nevertheless," replied the leader, "your path lies with us from now on."

            Estel shook his head and turned to leave the camp.  The leader arose and laid his hand on his shoulder.  "Oh, no, little one, you mustn't wander off."

            Estel twisted out from under his hand.  "I'm not wandering off.  If I follow the river back the way I came, I will get home."

            The Dunlending shook his head.  "You must stay with us."

            Estel scowled and made as if to stomp off.  To his shock, the Dunlending sprang forward and seized hold of his arm.  Estel attempted to yank free.  He failed.  He tried to peel the Dunlending's fingers from his arm.  No good.  He kicked at the Dunlending, but, as the child was barefoot, the Man only laughed.

            "A feisty one.  Just the sort of fresh blood that our village needs."

            "But I am not going to your village!"

            "Oh, but you are.  Finders keepers!  Malcolm, hand me that cord there."

            The Dunlending used the cord to tie Estel's wrists, and then used Estel's belt to secure his ankles.  Helplessly, his eyes filling with tears, Estel looked up at his captor.

            "Now, Ara, be a good boy, and you will have nothing to fear.  It is too dangerous for children to wander alone; they must live in villages."

            "But I already live somewhere!" cried Estel.      

            The Man shook his head.  "Your old home is much too far away.  You must come with us.  Oh, no," he added, as Estel opened his mouth wide to let out a scream.  "If you make a fuss, we'll gag you as well as tie you.  So just you sit quiet."

            Bewildered, Estel huddled on the ground as the Dunlendings broke camp.  When they were ready to depart, one of the Dunlendings tossed him over his shoulder as if he were a sack.

            "Well," laughed the hunter, "we didn't bag a deer, but I warrant that this creature will be as just as welcome in the village."

            These words had an unfortunate effect on Estel.  He had been bagged like a deer?  Now he understood.  They were going to eat him!  He began to howl.  Within minutes, the leader had acted on his promise to gag him if he made a racket.  Deprived even of his voice, Estel was now altogether at the mercy of the Dunlendings.

            Several hours after parting from the Trolls, Anomen was approaching the spot where Estel had encountered the hunters.  It had been easy to follow Estel's trail, for the child kept to the soft sand at the edge of the river.  He was marching along steadily, Anomen could tell, which was good in one sense, as it meant that the child was unhurt.  Of course, that also meant that the child was moving onward, away from Rivendell, at a good pace, but Anomen was not alarmed.  The tracks looked fresh, so Estel could not be very far ahead.  Anomen was confident that he would catch up before too long.

Then he came to the point at which the child's tracks were intercepted by the footprints of Men.  He studied the ground carefully.  A half dozen Men at the most.  He was still within the borders of Eregion, so it was possible that these Men were Rangers.  He thought it more likely, however, that these were Dunlendings who had ranged beyond their borders in search of game.  Small as the group was, Ranger bands were typically even smaller.  Indeed, most commonly each Ranger roamed on his own, returning from time to time to an agreed-upon rendezvous point to exchange tidings.  Anomen's suspicions were confirmed when he followed the tracks to the abandoned campsite.  Rangers would have carefully covered up all signs of their presence.  By leaving no hint that they had ever been at a place, they might be able to return with less danger of future discovery.  The Dunlendings, however, had merely kicked dirt over their fire and had not bothered to bury the bones and offal left over from gutting and preparing a meal.

As Anomen began to follow the trail out of the camp, south toward Dunland, he made one further, extremely disconcerting discovery.  When he had followed the trail from river to camp, he could easily spot Estel's footprints alongside that of a Man.  But he found no sign of Estel's tracks among the Men as they abandoned the camp and made for their homeland.  That meant that Estel had walked under his own power to the camp—there was no sign that he had been dragged—but that he was no longer afoot.  Anomen guessed that Estel had turned uncooperative and the Men had been forced to carry him off, no doubt binding him to boot.  It was good that the Men had not killed him, but it was not good that he had been made captive.  Anomen remembered how the Dunlendings had assisted the Southrons on the slave raid that had nearly led to the loss of Elladan and Elrohir.  Was Estel destined for Harad?  Estel was only a little child, but Anomen had never forgotten what the Dunlendings had said of _him when they planned to sell him to a Southron trader: 'The Southrons are clever at getting the most out of their slaves'._

By now Anomen was following the trail at a run.  It was easy to do so, for the Dunlendings were making no effort to hide their tracks.  They did not believe that any other Men were nearby, and it would never have occurred to them that an Elf would be searching for a human child.

Moving at great speed, but with the stillness of an Elf, it was not long before Anomen heard the voices of Men.  He crept near.  Laughing and talking, the Dunlendings had stopped for a meal break, kindling a fire to rewarm some leftovers.   A woeful Estel lay near the fire, gagged, ankles and wrists securely bound.  That was not good, as Estel could do nothing on his own.  On the other hand, Anomen was relieved to see that the Dunlendings were indeed few in number, only four plus the leader.  He knew, however, that they were very close to a farming settlement, which they would no doubt reach before nightfall.  Had they been stopping for the night, Anomen would have waited until dark and stolen Estel away.  He did not have that luxury.  It would be much harder to rescue Estel should the hunters reach the Dunlending village.  He decided that the approach that had worked with the Trolls might very well work with a small party of Men who no doubt remembered the trouncing they had received at the hands of Elves only a little while earlier.  Boldly he stepped out from behind the bush and strode into the midst of the camp.

The Dunlendings were dumbfounded by his appearance on two counts.  First, that he had materialized so suddenly.  Second, that he was bald.  Like the Trolls, they had never encountered an Elf with no hair.  A hairless Elf?  If the Dunlendings had known the word 'oxymoronic', they would have used it.  They did not, however, and so they simply sat as stupid as Trolls.  Anomen made the most of their confusion.

"You have something of mine," he said accusingly, pointing at Estel.

The leader found his tongue, albeit haltingly.

"Yours?  That—that child is yours?"

"Yes," Anomen said firmly.

"But—but he is no Elf!"

"Nevertheless, he belongs to me."

Anomen did not deign to offer an explanation, but the Dunlending leader was casting about for one of his own.  Elves had not been known to keep slaves, but, perhaps, thought the leader, their customs had lately changed.  Best not to antagonize the Elf then.  Let him have this child, lest he come after one of their own.  On the other hand….

The leader's eyes narrowed.  Having survived the battle between Dunlendings and Elves, the leader knew first-hand of the fighting prowess of Elrond's warriors.  But this was only one Elf who carried neither bow nor sword.

  Anomen saw the leader's change in expression and had no difficulty in guessing his thoughts.

"I would not, if I were you," he warned the Dunlending.

The Man tried to look as if he did not understand.  "What do you mean?"

"I mean I would not try to take me on if I were you.  I tell you this for your own good."

"Oh," sneered the Man.  "And not for _your own good?  You are only one Elf, and you bear no weapon but a knife."_

Anomen fixed him with a level stare.  As both Anomen and Durrandîr, he had had much practice in dissembling and bluffing.

"Do I look like any Elf you have ever seen?"

"No," smirked the Man.  "You haven't got the precious hair that Elves are so fond of.  Mayhap you have caught some dreadful, unmentionable disease."

Untroubled by the gibe, Anomen coolly replied.   "If you had better vision, you would see that my head has been shaved.  I am a member of an elite fraternity of warriors that admits only those who are willing to wholly dedicate themselves to warfare.  In token of our eagerness to sacrifice, we shear our hair.  This is but the outer sign of our utter devotion to the defense our people.  If you wish any further proof of my commitment, then by all means do take me on.  You shall find that I bear only a knife because, thus armed, I am the match of ten warriors equipped with both bow and sword."

Anomen spoke the last sentence so nonchalantly that the Dunlendings did not doubt him for a minute.  Mumbling, they began to back away from the Elf.

"My Lord," stammered their erstwhile leader.  "Be sure that we respect all property rights. We would by no means bereave you of that which is rightly yours."

"See that you do not," Anomen replied loftily.

With that, the Dunlendings turned about and fled from the clearing, carrying with them a tale of ferocious Elves who would sacrifice anything—even their hair!—in pursuit of success in battle.  Now even a lone Elf passing through Dunland would be unmolested by Men! 

As soon as the Dunlendings had scuttled away, Anomen pulled the gag from Estel's mouth and removed the bonds from his wrists and ankles.  Estel gazed respectfully at Anomen as he fastened his belt back around his waist.

"That was a lie!"

"Well, yes," admitted Anomen.

"I never heard such a good lie," declared Estel admiringly.

Anomen was not sure how he should feel about this, ah, compliment.

"Will you teach me to tell such good fibs?"

"Um, I think not.  Erestor is your tutor."

"But he won't teach me to lie, will he?"

"No, he probably won't."

"Then _you must!  After all," the boy added cleverly, "it is sometimes useful to be able to lie well.  Is that not true?"_

Having just lied to great effect, Anomen could not dispute Estel's point.

"Well, that may be correct—but lying is not something that can be taught.  It is a skill that must be developed."

"Oh," said Estel, disappointed.  Then his face brightened.  "So I must take every opportunity to practice, is that not so!?"

Anomen groaned.  What could he say?

"I would not practice too much if I were you."

"Why not?"

"Because," said Anomen desperately, "you will wear out your tongue.  It is possible to over-exercise a muscle, leaving yourself lame. As an Elfling, I often did that by exerting myself excessively on the archery field.  And then, instead of making progress, I would be forced to sit out a day or more to let my injured limbs recover."

"Ah, so I should tell fibs with great care."

"Yes, do not tell them often, and lie only at need—to escape from real danger.  You would not want to fritter away your ability to fib and lack it when it may be necessary to save your life."

Estel nodded in understanding.  Anomen was very wise!

Anomen handed Estel his boots.   Estel pulled them on gratefully.  Equally gratefully, he devoured a portion of the bread, cheese, and fruit that the Elf had been carrying.  Anomen took none himself.  He was old enough to do without for several days.  Besides, they were only two days from Imladris, and Anomen expected that it would not be too long before they were met by the scouts that Elrond no doubt had sent out the very night that they had failed to return to Rivendell.

"Ready now?" he said to Estel as the child licked the last crumb from his lips.  The boy nodded.

"Very well, then.  There are a few hours of daylight left.  Let us try to make the most of them."

Willingly the child trotted along beside the Elf, chattering about his adventures.

"And then I met two very, very large grownups.  They had just roasted a cow.  It was delicious!"

"Two very, very large grownups?"

"Yes!"

"They didn't look at all odd to you?"

"Well, they were large."

"Anything else?"

"They were dirty—like me!"

"Indeed?'

"And their clothes were raggedy—like mine!"

"Was that so?"

"Yes!  And—and—actually, they were rather smelly."

"Like you?"

"Um, yes," admitted Estel.  He walked on silently for a few minutes.

"Anomen?"

"Yes?"

Estel looked worried.  "Will I look like that when I grow up—and will I smell like that?"

"No, Estel.  You will look and smell like Halbarad, your kinsman."  Compared to an Elf, Halbarad was scruffy and odoriferous, but nothing like a Troll!

"Oh, that's good."

"Estel, those very, very large grownups were Trolls.  You are not a Troll."  Whatever the Trolls themselves may have thought, Anomen added to himself.

"Trolls?"  Estel's eyes widened.  He had heard of Trolls.  "But why didn't they gobble me up!?"

"Because, Estel, you are, without a doubt, the luckiest, canniest human I ever knew."

They marched on cheerfully.  Anomen was impressed by Estel's stamina.  For such a little one, he seemed to have a great deal of strength in his legs.  A mighty strider this one would grow up to be, Anomen thought.

The sun began to draw toward the horizon, and Anomen kept an eye open for a likely place to camp for the night.  Then in the distance, he spotted something.  He halted.

            "Look," Anomen said softly, "a campfire."

            "Good!" cried Estel automatically.  "Grownups!"

            Anomen clapped his hand over the child's mouth.  "Shhh!  You should realize by now that not all grownups are to be trusted."

            That was true.  Those hunters had turned out to be nasty, trussing him up like a deer!

            "We must creep up ever so quietly."  Anomen thought for a minute about leaving Estel behind as he went forward to scout, but quickly abandoned the idea.  Best to keep the child within reach.

            With the greatest of care, boy and Elf crept forward until they could peer into the clearing in which the fire had been kindled.  Two horses stood browsing.  Over the fire stooped a Man, hooded and cloaked.  With a shock of delight, Anomen realized that he knew him.  He was Radagast, an Istar who on occasion had accompanied Mithrandir to Rivendell.  Sitting on the ground, his back to Anomen and Estel, was a second Man, likewise hooded and cloaked.  Whooping, pulling Estel by the hand, Anomen leaped into the clearing.  The seated Man twisted about, surprise on his face.

            Saruman!


	5. Again The Trellis!

_Elemental Flair: _Yep, 'Uh oh' about covers it.

_Gwil__: I am glad I have managed to reassure you about the future direction of 'The Nameless One' series!_

_Grumpy: _Anomen is careful to do all the talking with Saruman to forestall any heedless comments by Estel.

_Farflung__: No,you didn't overlook anything.  Saruman's presence in Eregion has nothing to do with the council.  Instead, as you will see, I invented a (I hope) plausible reason for him being there.  By the way, thank you for alerting me to those errors in character names.  I know there are some other errors out there.  For example, at one point I confuse 'east' and 'west'!  A some point I need to take a few days to correct and reload certain chapters._

            It took a minute for Saruman to recognize the Elf.  He had seen Anomen with golden hair and brown, but never bald.  As soon as he realized who stood before him, however, the wizard was delighted.  They were miles from Rivendell, with only Radagast as witness—and Radagast could be sent off on an errand.

"So happy to see me?" said Saruman sarcastically.  He knew very well that Anomen had mistaken him for Mithrandir.  He also knew very well that Anomen was uncomfortable in his presence, and that pleased him, although the wizard would have been even more delighted if he could have contrived to make the Elf much more than 'uncomfortable'.

"My Lord Saruman," said Anomen, bowing.  "What brings you to Eregion?" he added uneasily.

            "Oh, my dear friend here, Radagast, has convinced me to accompany him to some spots that he hoped would be of interest to me."

            Radagast was not, of course, Saruman's 'dear friend'—the wizard was friend to nobody and certainly no one was 'dear to him—but he thought it politic to remain on good terms with anyone who might someday prove useful to him.  He had little regard for Radagast, but Saruman was wise enough to know that even the least of creatures—or wizards—could be manipulated.  And so he had indulged Radagast and joined him on a tour to some of the rustic places that were dear to the lesser wizard, friend as he was to beast and bird.  Saruman had consoled himself with the fact that at least he could reconnoiter as they journeyed.  He took careful note of the number and equipage of all whom they had met, listened carefully to their talk, and observed their fortifications.  He had, for example, noticed with interest the poverty of the Dunlendings.  It would be easy to corrupt people so desperate.  But was that a Dunlending child who stood beside Anomen?  Ties between Elves and Dunlendings would interfere with his plans.

            "Who is this?" asked Saruman, glancing down at the small human.

            "Estel," said Anomen.  He almost added, "foster-son of Lord Elrond," thinking to thereby warn Saruman that Estel was not friendless.  It occurred to him, however, that it might prove ill if he told the wizard that Estel had any standing in Imladris.  He did not want to alert Saruman to the fact that Estel was of any importance.  So he satisfied himself with saying, "Estel is my friend."

            "He has an elven name," observed the Istar, "but is no Elf.  Is he a Dunlending?"

"No," replied Anomen.  "He comes from far away, from a northern realm."       "Ah," said Saruman, pleased that the child had no connection to Dunland.  To himself he added, "The brat must simply be some nameless urchin that the half-elven has taken in—another orphan like that wretched Anomen."  The wizard dismissed the boy from his mind, his attention wandering back to the Elf.  Saruman could see that Anomen had grown since their last encounter.  He was no taller—Anomen would never be tall for an Elf—but he was more muscular.  Saruman perceived that the Elf would be a formidable warrior.  "Before he was a nuisance to me; now mayhap he will be a danger.  I _must somehow contrive to have him captured or slain—preferably captured, tortured, __then slain.  I must keep him by my side until I can rid myself of Radagast, and then my servants will seize him."_

"You do not look well-provisioned," Saruman said to Anomen.  "You and your friend must supp with us."

Anomen considered carefully.  He was hungry, and the food had been prepared before he and Estel had arrived on the scene.  No doubt it would be safe to eat.  He would watch carefully, however, to make sure that Saruman did not slip anything into his portion.  For Estel he had no fear.  He was of no importance to the wizard.

"Thank you, Lord Saruman. And thank you, Lord Radagast," he added, turning to the lesser wizard.  Radagast laughed.

"Lord Radagast!?  Lord Radagast!?" he chuckled.  "You have never addressed me so before, when I have visited in Rivendell.  Pray do not do so now!"

It was all Saruman could do to keep from grinding his teeth.  So Radagast, that clown of a wizard, had succeeded in winning Anomen's trust whilst he, Saruman, the greatest of the Istari, had failed to do so!  Oh, yes, that miserable Elf was going to pay for his disrespect!  

            Oblivious to the tension between Anomen and Saruman, Estel and Radagast became good friends over their bowls of stew.  To the wizard, the untamed child was rather like one of the wild creatures that appealed to him so.  As for Estel, he sensed the goodness beneath the bushy beard and rough exterior of the wizard.  Dimly, he understood that "All that is gold does not glitter."  Saruman, however, the child ignored, which was just as well, as Saruman paid no attention to him, either.

            Instead, Saruman watched Anomen like a hawk, and Anomen returned the favor.  Saruman took some pleasure in reaching repeatedly over the pot of stew, having divined that Anomen feared being drugged or poisoned.  Anomen went rigid whenever Saruman did so, and Saruman smiled with cruel pleasure.

At last Anomen's hunger was satisfied, as was Estel's.  Anomen arose.

"Come, Estel.  You must bid farewell to Radagast.  You will see him in Rivendell from time to time."

Estel was disappointed but obediently stood up.  Saruman, however, objected.

"Surely you cannot be thinking of wandering off alone. You must journey along with us for the time being.  We will escort you to Imladris."

"Oh, no, I would not dream of imposing upon you.  Nor would it be necessary.  I am quite familiar with the way to Rivendell.  Moreover, as we are overdue, no doubt Lord Elrond has sent scouts to meet us."

"If that is the case," said Radagast happily, "we can continue on our journey, Saruman."

Saruman forced a smile.  "Very well, Anomen—although it seems to me that you should be more fearful of wandering about in the wild.  One never knows what fell creature one may encounter."

Anomen met the wizard's eye with a steady gaze.  "Oh, but one does," he replied coolly.  Saruman was the first to look away.

Radagast, a generous soul, made sure that Anomen took away ample bread, cheese, and dried meat, although Anomen refused his offer of a flask of wine.  It would be hard to tamper with bread, cheese, and dried meat, but wine could be easily adulterated.  He did, however, accept an empty flask that he would fill with water at the first opportunity.

After Anomen and Estel had trudged off, Radagast and Saruman broke camp.  Actually, Radagast broke camp whilst Saruman sat at leisure seething at Anomen's latest escape.  But perhaps matters could be remedied.

"Radagast," Saruman said as that wizard secured the last saddlebag, "this has been a pleasant journey, but I must confess that I did not plan to stay so long from Isengard.  I have enjoyed myself so immensely that I did not mark the passage of time.  But Anomen's eagerness to return to Rivendell has put me in mind of the fact that I myself should turn my steps toward Orthanc."

"Must you?" said Radagast, disappointed.  "There is so much more to see—so many more birds and animals that you may enjoy meeting."

With great effort, Saruman kept himself from sneering.  Birds and animals indeed!  Putting on a disconsolate face, he sighed, "Ah, I appreciate your desire to acquaint me with your friends, but I really must demur.  No doubt we will join forces again some time."

"I do hope so," Radagast declared fervently.  He held out the reins of Saruman's horse to him.  The Istar of Isengard mounted and bade the lesser wizard farewell.  Radagast headed off toward the east, planning to cross the Misty Mountains and so come at length to Lothlórien.  Saruman turned his horse south.  

Saruman had not ridden far before three creatures came out from the shadows of the trees to join him.  Saruman bent down in his saddle to give them instructions, and the creatures scuttled off—heading northward.  Saruman himself continued on his way south, but at an unhurried pace.  He expected to be joined momentarily by an elven guest.  As to the child, he had told the Orcs that they could kill him in whatever manner they chose—quickly if they were hungry, slowly if they desired entertainment.

Elves had once dwelled in Eregion, however, and the trees remembered.  When they perceived that the Orcs were tracking Anomen, they began to call out to him in their silent fashion.  Anomen heeded them immediately.  His encounter with Saruman had left him wary.  Nor would he never again ignore the voices of trees, as he had sometimes done when he was an elfling.

"Estel," he said urgently, "you must climb this tree and stay out of sight.  Whatever happens do not come down unless I tell you to—and if I do not come back, wait until the scouts from Rivendell draw near and call out to them.  Here. Take the flask of water and the satchel of food."

Estel nodded.  Anomen's manner had impressed him with the seriousness of the situation.

With Estel safely hidden in the tree, Anomen began to scout for his pursuers.  Only three.  Good.  Carrying scimitars but no bows.  Also good.  He and Estel merely needed to stay out of reach.  As he watched, however, the three split up.   Not so good.  He now would have to keep watch on all sides.  Still, the situation was not as dire as it could be.  He and Estel would need to elude these Orcs for only a little while, for surely the Imladris scouts could not be far.

Anomen retraced his steps to Estel's tree.  He was about to call out to the child when he was staggered by a heavy blow.  Desperately he whirled about, but saw no one within reach.  Then he was hit again and collapsed to the ground.  As he fell, he briefly wondered how the Orcs had been able to strike from afar.

The Orcs carried no bows, but there are projectiles other than arrows.  One of the Orcs, the cleverest of the three, had spied Anomen moving through the forest.  He had seized upon two rocks and hurled them with all his might at the young Elf.  Ai! His aim had been good.  He called to his fellows and they scurried to the fallen Elf.

            Anomen had been stunned so badly that he lay with his eyes closed.  One of the Orcs raised his scimitar to finish off the helpless Elf.

            "Wait!" yelled the cleverest of the Orcs.  "Are ye fergettin' so soon.  That looks like the Elf wot the master said we was to capture alive."

            "Huh?" grunted Anomen's would-be murderer.  "This in't an Elf.  Gots no hair."

            "Don' you remember, Dwarf-brain—Imladris Elf, younger and smaller than most?  An' in pertickler, _no hair_.  Mentioned it specific, the master did."

            "What about 'im?"

            "The reward, the reward!  Don' you remember—master said th'reward 'ud be greater than we could imagine?"

            Now in point of fact, an Orc has a very limited imagination, so it is not hard to offer one a reward greater than its mind can compass.  The first Orc's eyes lit up as he envisioned something along the lines of fresh meat three times a day instead of rotted meat twice a day.  Then his face fell.

            "But what if this is the wrong Elf?"

            "Look," his fellow explained patiently—patiently for an Orc that is—"he's here, and he's bald.  Anyway, he don' look very heavy.  So what've we to lose if we carry 'im to the master?  If he's the right one, we get the reward.   If he's the wrong one, well, he's still fresh meat, in't 'e?  I'm not real hungry right now anyway, so I'm all for waitin' as it is.  You know the minute you kill 'im, he's gonna start t'spoil."

            His companions slowly nodded.  "You know," one said, "I'm not all that hungry neither.  Haven't finished digestin' that Dwarf, I think.  He was kinda too fatty for m'taste.  Alright, then, let's take this Elf t'the master."

            "Good.  You two take turns carryin' 'im."

            "Why do _we hav't' carry 'im!?"_

            "'Cause it was _my_ idea, maggot-mouth."

            "Oh."   One of the two duller Orc pulled Anomen's knife from his belt and tossed it aside.  He then trussed up Anomen and flung him over his shoulder.

            "Yer right," he grunted.  "Won't be much trouble carryin' im.  Hope he is the right one an' we get the reward, 'cause if he in't, we're not gonna get much meat outa him."

            Estel, clinging to the tree, had witnessed this entire scene.  Anomen had said to stay in the tree if he didn't come back, but he _had come back, Estel thought to himself.  True, he'd been carried off by Orcs, but that happened __after he had come back.  That meant, Estel reasoned, that he didn't need to stay in the tree any longer.  So down he climbed._

            What to do now?  Anomen had said repeatedly that elven scouts were heading their way.  Should he hasten northward to alert the scouts as soon as may be that Anomen had been captured?  Or should he go after Anomen?

            Unbeknowst to Estel, but he was following in the footsteps of Anomen, who centuries earlier had been forced to make the same decision—whether to go back and alert the scouts or to himself attempt the rescue of his friend.  Estel made a decision identical to the one Anomen had made so many years before.

            "I don't know where the scouts are, but I know where _I_ am," Estel declared to himself.  He bent down and picked up Anomen's knife, slipping into his belt.  Then, with the determination of a child who does not comprehend what he is up against, he marched off after the Orcs and their captive.  It did not take long for him to catch up, and, again like Anomen, hidden in the undergrowth he trailed alongside them, watching for an opportunity to help his friend.

            The Orcs and their captive arrived at the point where they had parted from Saruman, and they talked eagerly about bearing their captive on to the 'master' who they knew was not far ahead.  In anticipation of the reward, they wished to let the 'master' know as soon as possible that they had done his bidding.  The cleverest of the Orcs said to one of the duller ones, "Here, you, go on ahead 'n let the master know that we got these here Elf."

            The chosen Orc trotted off.  That left only two of the creatures, and Estel realized that the time to act was now.  He would never face fewer foes.

Estel crept nearer.  He had seen how the Orc had felled Anomen with a rock.  He scrabbled about in the dirt until he had piled up several stones that were small enough for him to loft but heavy enough to do some damage.  He took a deep breath and flung the first stone.  It struck the cleverest of the Orcs square in the forehead and dropped him, like, well, dropped him like a stone.  The other Orc, not too surprisingly, stood stupidly, gawking at his fallen companion.  Within seconds Estel had brought him down as well.  

            The two orcs lay sprawled upon the ground.  The cleverest one lay quite still, but the duller one was moaning.  Estel drew Anomen's blade from his belt and sprang from his hiding place.  He knelt by Anomen and cut the bonds that secured the Elf's wrists and ankles.  Then he dropped the knife and tried to rouse his friend.  He gently shook him by the arm, and he trickled water from the flask over his face.  Anomen did open his eyes, but they were glassy.

            The moaning Orc began to writhe about.  Estel glanced anxiously toward him and then redoubled his efforts to wake Anomen.  He shook him a little harder.  He poured more water over his face.

            The Orc's movements seemed to become more purposeful.  He raised a hand to his face and rubbed at the spot where the stone had hit him.  Estel leaped up and ran to the Orc.  He picked up the rock and tried to hurl it onto the Orc's head.  But the child's hands were shaking, and his aim was bad.  The Orc grunted and shook his head.  The glancing blow seemed to have roused him more than anything.

            Desperately, Estel returned to Anomen and shook him violently.  "Wake up, oh, wake up, please!" he begged.  But Anomen's eyes were still glazed over, and he did not stir.

            The Orc now was trying to push himself up on his elbows.  His eyes were open, although unfocused.  Estel was crying now, the tears streaking through the dirt on his face.  He picked up Anomen's blade.  Again following unawares in Anomen's footsteps, the child instinctively stood behind the Orc.  As the Orc drew himself into a sitting position, Estel, holding the knife with both hands, threw all his weight into stabbing the Orc in the back of the neck.        

            Estel was lucky in his blow.  The blade passed between two vertebrae and severed the Orc's spinal cord.  He was dead before his body had slumped onto the ground.

            Estel dropped down beside the dead Orc.  Hugging himself, rocking back and forth, he sobbed convulsively.  That is what Anomen saw when at length his eyes cleared and he looked about.

            "Estel," he said softly.

            The weeping boy did not heed him.

            "Estel," Anomen said a little louder.  The boy stared wildly at him, his chest heaving as he shuddered spasmodically.

            Anomen felt too sick to move.  "Come here, Estel."

            The child crawled over to the Elf and curled up beside him, shaking uncontrollably.  Anomen wrapped his arms around him.  From somewhere in his memory came a song that his Edwin Nana had once sung to him.  In his dizziness, he garbled the words and the tune somewhat, but Estel began to collect his wits.

            "I—I—I—killed him," he gasped at last.

            "Yes," said Anomen soothingly, "and it was a hard thing to do, wasn't it?"

            "It wasn't—it wasn't hard for my _hands_," sobbed Estel, "but it was hard—somehow."

            "The first time I killed an Orc, I had no time to think, so I did not tremble as you do now.  But the first time I killed a Man, I felt very bad."

            "Did you cry?"

            "No.  Other foes still lived.  My friends and I had to escape, and I dared not cry.  Then, too, I was much older than you are and so did not cry easily.  When I at last wept it was much later, after the leader of my patrol had been killed at Dol Guldur.  I cried for his death, but I also cried for the deaths I had caused, even though I knew those deaths were necessary."

            "Necessary," said Estel softly.

            "Do you know what that word means, Estel?"

            "If something is necessary, it must be done."

            "Yes," Anomen said simply.  They lay quietly curled up together for a while longer.  At last Anomen groaned.  "We are not safe yet.  We must make our way north.  If only the patrol would find us!"

            "Necessary," said Estel.

            "What?"

            "You are hurt, and I feel sick, but it is necessary for us to walk on nonetheless."

            For the first time Anomen knew that this child was indeed the future king of Gondor.  Never again would he doubt it.

            Anomen sat up but winced as sensation began to return to his limbs.  Moreover, his head felt as if it had been stomped on by a Troll.

"You can stand, can't you," asked Estel nervously.  "One of the Orcs has gone ahead to fetch its master.  We must leave this place as quickly as we can."

            Anomen suspected that he knew who this 'master' was, but he also knew he could never prove it.  In any event, the child was right.  It was imperative that they flee with all possible speed.  With Estel's aid, he arose to his feet and took a few halting steps.

            "I can walk only slowly.  But no doubt as I recover I will soon be able to move more swiftly.  In any event, it is better to flee at a slow pace than not to flee at all!"

            With that, the two resumed their trek northward.  As they did so, Anomen, still a trifle dazed, did not think to make sure that both Orcs were indeed dead, and Estel had never been taught to do so.  So it was that shortly after Elf and boy made their escape, the Orc who had at first lain still began to stir.  He had only been stunned.  Sitting up he looked about the clearing and spied his dead companion, blood pooling around his neck.

            "Ugh, no reward," the creature blubbered, "and mebbe a whippin' to boot."  He staggered to his feet.  "Well, _yer__ past pain," he snorted, kicking the dead Orc.  "So I'll just blame it on yeh.  I'd snack on yeh, too, if I had any appetite.  Well, mebbe later."_

            With that the beast turned and began to lope southward.  Before too long he came upon Saruman and the Orc who had run ahead with the news of their success.  Saruman had reined his horse to a halt to allow the Orcs to bring up their captive.  He stared stonily at the lone Orc that now approached him.

            "Where-is-the-Elf?" he demanded through gritted teeth.

            "Nasty thing got away.  It was me mate's fault—but he's dead, curse 'im."

            "How could a lone Elf have gotten away from two Orcs—and he was tied, was he not?"

            "Oh, yes, master, trussed like a pig.  Elves is amazin' creatures, in't they?"

            "And the boy?"

            "The boy?"

            "Did you slay the boy?"

            "Didn' see no boy."

            No doubt, thought Saruman, the boy had something to do with the escape of the Elf.  It dawned upon him that perhaps he should not have dismissed the urchin so quickly.  In his rage and frustration, he snarled at the Orc.  "Not only could you not hang on to a captive bound hand and foot, you could not even dispose of one small child!"  

            "I was only tryin' to bring back some fresh meat," whined the creature.

            "Oh, do not let yourself be troubled," replied the wizard, "for you have surely succeeded in doing _that_."  He turned to the other Orc.  "Slit his throat."

            Delighted, the Orc licked his lips and obeyed.  Then he remembered the third Orc.  "Uh, master, there was two wot stayed behind."

            "Is that so," replied Saruman coolly.  "Well, you may go recover the other carcass, if you wish."

            "Oh, thank you, master!" chortled the Orc.  He was now slavering at the thought of the sumptuous feast that awaited him.

            The Elf whose escape had so enraged Saruman, and the boy who had helped him, were still hobbling through the forest as the one surviving Orc was planning his menu.  Anomen's head hurt dreadfully, but he consoled himself with the thought that each painful step brought them that much closer to Rivendell.  Surely they would not have to surmount any further obstacles or confront any additional foes.  As he dwelled upon that idea, he heard a sound from up ahead that might or might not bode ill.  Estel heard it as well.

            "Horses," said Estel quietly. "But," he added, "we do not know if they bear friend or foe, so we must hide."

            Impressed, Anomen nodded.  The two turned aside into a thicket.  Anomen believed that horses from the north most likely would be elven, but it was wise to be careful.  They would risk nothing by being cautious, while failing to be so could be fatal.

            Soon the horses galloped into view.  Yes, elven.  Elrond rode at the head, Berenmaethor following close behind.  Anomen leaped up and hailed the elven troop.  Estel arose and stood beside him.

            "Anomen!  Estel!  Praise the Valar!"  Elrond had dismounted almost before his horse had come to a halt.  He gripped Anomen's arms.  "You are hurt."

            "A little."

            Elrond knelt down before Estel and gently took hold of his shoulders.  "And you, little one?"

            "I am not hurt in my body."

            Elrond looked searchingly into the child's face and nodded his understanding.  There would be many quiet talks in the days to come.  For now they would return to Rivendell.

            Anomen rode behind Berenmaethor, and Elrond took Estel up before him.  After several hours of steady riding they arrived at the Troll camp, deserted because it was daytime.  Well, deserted except for Glorfindel, that is, who had been grimly sorting through cow bones.  When he saw them approaching, delight briefly shone on his face.  Then he remembered that he was the balrog-slayer, and he hurriedly composed himself.

            "Hmmph.  They're both safe, I see.  Led us on a merry chase for nothing, I'll wager."

            "_I was almost eaten by Trolls," announced Estel._

            Anomen looked askance at the child.  They would have to have a conversation about the relationship between 'exaggerating' and 'lying'.

            By early afternoon the next day, the Elves arrived back at Rivendell.  Anomen stopped in his chamber for fresh clothes and then made his way straight to his favorite bathing pool to soak his tired and dirty body.  Estel had different priorities.  He went directly to the kitchen.  Dumbfounded as surely as the Trolls had been, the head cook watched in disbelief as Estel marched past him and made a beeline for the fresh pastries.  He picked out three of the most delectable ones.  Then, after a moment's pause, Estel picked out a fourth one for good measure.  He stuffed two in his tunic and held one in each hand.  Smiling at the head cook, the child sauntered out the door.  The cook's mouth worked as he tried to speak.  At last he gave up, and shaking his head mournfully, he returned to rolling out dough for meat pies.

            The evening meal Anomen and Estel took privately in Elrond's chamber.  Only Arwen and Elrond jointed them.  Arwen hovered over Estel, making much of him.  Anomen thought it was a good thing that on the morrow Arwen was departing for Lothlórien.  Otherwise Estel would be spoiled rotten.  Elrond was thinking along similar lines, although his conclusion was strengthened by his memories of how Arwen had made much of Anomen in past centuries.  Anomen was oblivious to the fact that _he had been spoiled rotten in his day._

            Elrond insisted that Anomen and Estel turn in immediately after the evening meal.  Bedtime was delayed only long enough for Elrond to apply an unguent to Anomen's head that would help along the regrowth of his hair.  Then it was off with the tunics and leggings, on with the nightdresses, and into their respective beds.  Anomen didn't mind the early bedtime, for it meant that he could lie quietly and think.  Estel, however, was not one to lie still and meditate.  Anomen could hear him rustling about restlessly.  At last the child spoke plaintively.

            "Anomen, when I was frightened by nightmares, my Momma and Papa let me climb in with them."

             Huffed Anomen indignantly, "I am neither your Naneth nor your Adar!"

            "Oh."

            Silence for awhile, then snuffling.

            "Estel?"

            "What?"

            "You're not crying, are you?"

            "Course not!" sniffed Estel.

            Anomen groaned.  "Oh, very well.  Come on.  But you had better not kick!"

            Estel bounced into the bed.

            "Ooooomph!"

            "I didn't kick!"

            "No, you just jumped on me!"

            "But," repeated Estel, "I did not kick!"

            "Fine.  Do not kick, bounce, wiggle, squirm, tumble, jounce, jump, wriggle, twist, or fidget.  If it involves movement, do not do it!"

            Estel lay very still for a moment.

            "Anomen?"

            The Elf sighed.  "Yes?"

            "You smell funny."

            "_I smell funny!?"_

            "Yes.  You smell like a pine tree."

            "Must be the pitch the twins poured on me," said Anomen wryly.

            "No, you smell more like the sap from a newly cut branch.  I like that smell."

            "Oh."

            A few more minutes of silence passed.

            "Anomen?"

            "Yes."

            "How do _I smell."_

            "Truly?"

            "Truly."

            "You smell as if you were sprayed by a skunk a few days ago _and as if you hadn't had a bath today."_

            "It's true that I haven't had a bath today," said Estel earnestly, "but I can't help the skunk odor."

            "Estel, aren't you the least bit tired."

            "No.  Are you?"

            Anomen had to confess that he was not.

            "Now _you are wriggling, Anomen."_

            "I know."  Anomen sat up and looked toward the window.  Outside, he knew, a ladder-like trellis rested against the wall.

            "Estel," he said, his eyes shining.  "Since neither of us is tired, I have a marvelous idea.  You like climbing, don't you?"

            "Oh, yes!"

            "Good.  Let's get dressed.  Climbing is like lying—an excellent survival skill.  One must lie creatively; one must climb creatively.  That means being alert to all possible climbing opportunities."

            "Climbing opportunities?"

            "Yes.  One must recognize that even objects not intended to be climbed upon can indeed be so used.  I will give you your first lesson this very night."

            A short while later, Glorfindel, out for a stroll in the garden, caught sight of a scene with which he was all too familiar: Anomen scaling a trellis that was growing more and more crooked as the centuries passed.  Then, as Anomen reached the ground, the balrog-slayer was horrified to see a second, smaller figure sliding over the window sill and taking hold of the trellis.

"Oh, no," he spluttered.  "Oh, no."  Unable to utter a more coherent thought, Glorfindel turned away.  He had better go and retire for the night.  No doubt it would be best if he were rested on the morrow—and on many morrows to come!

**And we reach the end of another of Anomen's adventures.  Whatever will happen to him next!?  And Saruman: will he begin to twitch uncontrollably like the chief inspector in the Pink Panther movies?  Will Glorfindel add Estel to his to-be-skinned list?  Will Erestor run screaming from the library once Estel finally makes his entrance into that chamber?  Will Elrond develop a facial palsy from excessive eyebrow exercise?  Stay tuned!**


End file.
